


The Post-Apocalypse is What You Make of It

by Shuriken_to_the_Face



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Apocalypse, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny!Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:18:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2343230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuriken_to_the_Face/pseuds/Shuriken_to_the_Face
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a post-Event North America Steve and the Soldier must struggle to survive against marauding cannibals, roving gangs, slave traders, and the unforgiving desert landscape. It’s tough as Hell, but Steve reckons they’re doing okay.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, dark forces from the Soldier’s murky past threaten to reappear. And they want their Asset back.</p>
<p>Post-Apocalypse AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The Event occurred on the 3rd March 2027, during the fifth year of the Third World War. For a global population already decimated by conflict on a scale never before imagined, there was no recovery. The initial EMP strike hit without warning. The phenomena continued for 21 days, frying almost everything that contained even the smallest electronic chip. Suddenly it didn’t matter how many tanks, or missiles, or military aircraft a nation had deployed to the theatres of war. As governments collapsed the grand scale of the last of the Great Wars gave way to street battles between hundreds of political factions.

By 2040 one of these factions, HYDRA, had clawed its way to worldwide dominancy. HYDRA built its autocracy on the foundations of the Old model, controlling the people through both the distribution of precious resources, and the threat of the forced labour camps. Control through need and through fear. It worked, for a while. Until the resources began to dwindle. HYDRA hoarded much of what remained in their fortified bunkers while the population suffered and grew angry. Numbers, in the end, prevailed. HYDRA fell, and in 2064 the Faction War began. A bloody three years later saw no clear victors. Instead the various factions had scrabbled and slaughtered over small pockets of territory. Borders were wiped from the continental landmasses.

What the Old World had called North America became a mess of scar tissue as tribes and gangs and kingdoms sprang up and carved bloody swathes through the Great Desert. Contact with the world across the oceans gradually dried up save for the occasional garbled transmission picked up by SW radio. The scorched earth landscape ran from coast to coast, and to the North as far as it could before it gave way to frozen tundra and the lands of the Jötunn. The old cities of the East and West coasts became the territories of urban Reaper gangs. The few pockets of Unaffiliated who remained among the city ruins struggled to survive from day-to-day as they desperately tried to stay one step ahead of roving cannibals, murderers, and thieves. The other inhabitants of these once-great cities took their chances inland and moved out into the Great Desert chasing rumours of plentiful food, fresh water, and peaceful communes. Some of these Settlers were successful, establishing thriving and well-defended settlements. Others met their brutal ends at the hands of Sand Pirates, radiation, starvation, or dehydration. Sometimes, they were the lucky ones.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s less than two miles. We can walk the bike down and save the gas.” 
> 
> The Soldier replied with an overly dramatic sigh, “Fine.” He dismounted the bike and was about to hand Steve one of the packs of gear when he realised the blond was already on his way down to the stream bed, “You gonna help or what?” Steve turned to face him, continuing to walk backwards while he replied,
> 
> “Not if you want to get there before nightfall.”

“There’s a group of structures; one o’clock. Follow the line of the stream bed,” the Soldier stated, flicking his goggles up after making his report. Steve lifted his binoculars,

“Well, we were looking for some decent shelter for the night. The romance of sleeping under the stars is starting to wear off.” It was true enough: the closer they skirted to Horde territory the more careful they had to be of attracting attention. For the last three nights a campfire had been off the cards. It had been a long week since they had slept under shelter.

“I haven’t detected any movement. Will need to get closer to scan for heat signatures. Stay out of sight with the bike and I’ll go check it out. It’s safe – we’ll stay the night,” the Soldier checked his weapons while Steve gave him a distinctly unimpressed look. Eventually, the Soldier looked up, “Fine. Two nights.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, “Three. At _least._ We need to rest.” The Soldier replied with a huff behind his mask, but nodded anyway.

 

At 200 metres the Soldier switched his goggles to heat detection. He’d already circled the small compound finding neither signs of life nor any tracks – human or vehicle – leading to or from the buildings. The place certainly looked abandoned and, apart from being left to the elements, undisturbed. It was a good find. A potentially un-looted dwelling so close to hostile territory. The readings relayed by his goggles confirmed it. The compound was deserted.

 

Steve had followed the Soldier’s progress through his binoculars as far as he could until the black-clad figure had disappeared into the enclosure. He shifted his gaze to the wider landscape, scanning for any signs of hostile movement. The fingers of one hand played with the clasp to the utility pouch that held a mirrored compact, his only means of signalling the Soldier at such a distance.

“It’s clear.”

Steve jumped, the Soldier’s voice alarmingly close to his ear, “ _FUCK!_ I told you not to do that! Nearly gave me a fucking heart attack!” He ran a shaking hand through his dirty blond hair. He could imagine under the mask that the Soldier looked highly amused. “No one’s still living there though, right? They’ve not just nipped over the ridge to raid a neighbouring camp?”

The Soldier was settling himself back on the motorcycle, “Been abandoned at least six months. Not looted either. Not surprising, can’t see it from the highway and the Horde don’t have much of a reason to leave the road. There’s some good stuff we can take.” He was about to kick-start the bike when he finally looked up to see Steve. The blond had an eyebrow raised and an expression on his face that seemed to say ‘ _Really?’_ The Soldier stilled, “What?”

“It’s less than two miles. We can walk the bike down and save the gas.”

The Soldier replied with an overly dramatic sigh, “Fine.” He dismounted the bike and was about to hand Steve one of the packs of gear when he realised the blond was already on his way down to the stream bed, “You gonna help or what?” Steve turned to face him, continuing to walk backwards while he replied,

“Not if you want to get there before nightfall.”

 

The stars had started to break out across the dusk-purple sky by the time they reached the compound with their gear. What would take the Soldier under an hour at most – even laden like a packhorse – had taken three hours with Steve. He tired quickly and it didn’t help that they had been strictly rationing food and water since nearing the Horde, just in case they’d needed their stores to last all the way through to less hostile territory. The Soldier had kept back, though, letting Steve set the pace and lead the way. He’d seen first-hand the effects of Steve’s wounded pride whenever he had offered to help him – he’d never offer to carry him again after what happened last time, unless the blond was already unconscious – and he was too tired and too thirsty to deal with that nonsense tonight. Steve had perked up instantly when they entered the compound gates, turning to offer the Soldier an excited grin,

“Can you believe this place?! I’ve never seen anything like it!” He’d run off after that outburst, eager to explore. It was true: to find a settlement neither completely ransacked by looters nor burnt to the ground was beyond rare. The Soldier couldn’t help but smile at his companion’s enthusiasm beneath his ever-present mask as he stored the bike out of sight and unloaded the gear.

“There’s a truck back here! And two cans of gas! You think it’s still good?” By the time the Soldier rounded the back of the main cabin Steve was rummaging around in the back of the flatbed.

“The gas is still good, already checked it out. Whoever lived here has been trading with, or stealing from, one of the Horde’s refineries. I’d side with stealing. If Hordak knew this was here he would’ve been all over it. We’re not taking the truck. Too slow and too noticeable.”

Steve jumped down from the truck, “So what happened to them? If the Horde didn’t know they were here? Why leave without the truck?”

In answer the Soldier beckoned Steve toward the cabin. Inside was tidy and clean except for a thick layer of dust. On the kitchen table were four plates, the desiccated remains of a half-eaten meal on each. The Soldier picked a dry, black berry husk off one of the plates, “Poisonous. Whoever lived here was living off tinned food, but it looks like they tried foraging for some fresh berries. It’s unfortunate that these look almost identical to wild blackcurrants if you don’t know what you’re looking for. These won’t kill you alone, but they will cause hallucinations and dehydration. They weren’t from the Desert or they wouldn’t have made a mistake like that. Probably a family of Unaffiliated from one of the East Coast cities. My guess is they up and ran out in the middle of their meal. Probably just ran until they couldn’t anymore. Look what else I found.” He led the way back into the yard and over to an old fashioned manual water pump. Steve gaped almost unbelieving at the sight,

“Does that…” he trailed off, unwilling to finish. In response the Soldier worked the pump until pure, clear and ice cold water started to flow from the spout into the bucket below. “Oh my God!” Steve threw himself to his knees in front of the bucket and desperately started to scoop water to his lips with cupped hands before splashing his face and running the water through his dust-matted hair. Water was starting to soak his clothing by the time he turned to the Soldier, face flushed and dripping wet. He rewarded the Soldier with the most dazzling smile.

By nightfall they had scavenged a pile of extremely useful items from around the yard and a few small outbuildings. They couldn’t take it all, not if they were going to keep the bike rather than adopting the truck. It had led to a lively discussion over what to take and what to stash at the compound if they were going to mark it on the map as one of their safe houses. The contents of the two gas cans would come, of course, transferred to the jerry cans strapped to the rear of the bike. They had also decided on an adjustable spanner, two extra canteens and a set of allen keys. What remained of the USEFUL pile Steve had gathered was wrapped in plastic sheeting and buried under the floor of one of the outbuildings.

With no light source besides matches it was too dark for Steve to help search the house. Instead they would start scavenging the inside in the morning. They had been able to light the kitchen enough for Steve to search the cupboards for food while the Soldier re-checked their surroundings. The blond ended up with a sizeable pyramid of tins on the table. The two now sat in the living room sharing a tin of tomatoes and a tin of peas. It was the most either of them had eaten for a single meal in over a week.

“I’ll take full watch tonight, you need to sleep.”

“Are you serious?” The Soldier almost winced at Steve’s tone. There goes wanting to avoid any nonsense tonight.

“You need it more than me,” he replied with a shrug.

“Look, I’m not arguing that.”

The Soldier blinked at the surprise statement. He had been very much expecting an argument. Steve seemed to be able to read that in his expression,

“I’m not stupid,” he huffed, “I _know_ you can do the whole harder, better, faster, stronger thing, and _I_ know that _you_ know that I don’t admit that easily. But not tonight, because I _also_ know when you are running on empty. You checked the perimeter, we’re out of sight, no-one knows we’re here. Let’s just both get a full night’s rest. I promise you can go back to lone wolf mode tomorrow and we’ll forget this conversation ever happened.”

The Soldier kept his eyes on Steve while the blond finished off his meal. It had already been decided, apparently, “Fine. You take upstairs, I’ll sleep down here.” The Soldier started to bed down on the sofa, “Goodnight”. Steve took that as the small victory it was. He paused to look back at the bottom of the staircase, eyes narrowed,

“And if you don’t sleep, I’ll know that too.” The Soldier offered a sloppy salute in return. Steve flipped him off before jogging up to the bedroom. The Soldier smiled when he heard the loud, colourful curse as the blond fell up the stairs.

* * *

 

The Soldier had been instantly awake as first light began to stream into the living room, immediately heading out to check for any evidence that the compound had been visited during the night. It was more a routine than anything – if anyone had been within a hundred yard radius of the compound he would’ve known. He was washing half naked by the water pump when Steve had made his way outside.

“Apricots or pears?”

“Apricots,” The Soldier replied before emptying a half-full bucket of icy water over his head. He missed Steve’s eyes flicker downwards as droplets trailed his (impressive) abs. The blond tried not to look (he did!), but there was really no arguing that the Soldier wasn’t hot as Hell even when he insisted on covering half his face most of the time. As an artist, Steve considered it his moral duty to appreciate the form of his companion. Plus, what the Soldier didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, and Steve was quite discreet in his “aesthetic appreciations”. 

“Apricots, okay. Apricots.”

Steve brought the tin outside to where the Soldier was sitting drying off in the desert sun. They ate facing each other, tin of fruit on the ground between them.

“So I had a bit of a look around the room I slept in. Whoever lived here was planning to be in it for the long run. I found bags full of clothes. Should be able to swap out some of our gear. Will be nice to have some clean clothes,” Steve sighed.

The Soldier frowned at that, “I like my gear. It’s…worn in.”

Steve snorted, “That’s one way of looking at it. I don’t mean lose the Kevlar and the leather, more just some new tops and stuff. You can wash the rest.”

The Soldier finished off the apricots, “Come on then, let’s go shopping.”

Steve’s room had apparently been used as a store of sorts despite the double bed placed under the window. There were two wardrobes stuffed with the clothing bags and a dresser filled with all sorts of treasures. The Soldier left the clothing bags to Steve while he routed around in the drawers. Steve started two piles on the bed – one for each of them – and began sorting. They worked in a comfortable silence occasionally punctuated by one or the other exclaiming that they’d found something noteworthy. The sun signalled midday by the time they had finished, the Soldier with a collection of rudimentary first aid supplies, a small pile of old 20th century jewellery pieces, a few bottles of perfume, and a sewing kit, and Steve with two sizeable stacks of clothing. The blond frowned when he inspected the Soldier’s finds,

“Do we need all of the shiny stuff? Will anyone trade for it?”

“If we need to deal with any tribe leaders. They love this stuff _because_ they don’t need it. Demonstrates their power if they can afford to trade food and water for a few trinkets. Same with the perfume. Imagine the message it would send if a tribe leader traded a 5-gallon of water for a few ounces of smelly stuff for his girl.”

“Makes sense, I guess. Never dealt with any tribe leaders before. Is that what happens when you sneak away in the middle of the night and suddenly there’s “suspicious meat” for breakfast? Oh look, this’ll be useful for stitching up your ‘worn in’ clothes,” Steve brandished the sewing kit.

“You’re hilarious. What you picked out for me then?”

The Soldier couldn’t complain in the end. Steve had sourced five sleeveless tops for him. They’d be a tight fit but would be comfortable enough. A couple of hoodys and two pairs of black BDUs (a little oversized) completed the Soldier’s new wardrobe.

“Acceptable,” he nodded. Steve just rolled his eyes. The blond’s own pile was just as modest: a few sleeveless tops in grey (a woman’s fitted style – men’s sizes tended to fall a little off one shoulder in a very annoying way whenever he tried them on his small frame), a black zip hoody, and three pairs of camouflage pants that to his surprise actually fitted quite well. With this haul he could replace most of the stuff in his pack.

The second bedroom looked like it had belonged to a pair of teenagers judging by the belongings long left behind. There wasn’t much for them here except for a handful of hair ties. A hair brush, too which the Soldier took full advantage of to rid his chin length hair of the tangles that had dried into it. Steve found another mirrored compact in a drawer which would be useful, along with a small bag full of cosmetics. There was _always_ someone willing to trade the good stuff for make-up.

“Sunglasses!” Steve shouted happily as he tipped out the final drawer. He’d lost his days ago, before they’d even entered the desert proper. The Soldier had tried to lend him his own goggles insisting the sun didn’t bother him, but the blond couldn’t get the hang of the constant info relays and display changes. They’d ended up making him vomit. The pair he’d found weren’t bad, dark lenses in aviator frames. Much better than the horrible blue ones he’d lost. They were on the way out of the room when the Soldier grabbed Steve, his whole hand easily circling the blond’s thin wrist,

“Wait,” he picked something off the discarded ‘NO’ clothing pile – a rabbit fur ushanka – and pulled it down onto the blond’s head, tugging down the earflaps.

“It’s too hot for this!” Steve went to remove the hat but was fussed away.

“It’s back to cold nights outside after we leave here. Keep it.” The Soldier walked off down stairs to check the rest of the house.

“ _You_ keep it, Jerk” Steve mumbled before following him.

 

The Soldier scored the jackpot when one of the living room cupboards yielded precious ammunition and gun oil. Some of the rounds were useless to the Soldier himself, incompatible with the small arsenal of firearms he possessed, but a lot of people would be prepared to trade for ammunition. It was by far the most valuable form of currency in certain circles. He counted 16 rounds of various sizes that he would be able to use, and 12 that he would be able to trade. The find would leave him and Steve in a much better place for crossing Horde territory. Steve came across a complete pack of cards and a couple of dice which would help the long desert nights pass quicker, and a drawer packed with candles and matches.

“I think we’ve been through everything,” Steve stood and stretched out the kink in his back. He glanced out of the window and noticed the dusk colours starting to creep in, “Macaroni cheese or spaghetti hoops?”

“Hoops. I’ll repack the bags. Better if we’re ready to go,” the Soldier had glanced up briefly before going back to packing his utility gear with the ammunition.

“Okay. We won’t need to run out though, will we?” Steve couldn’t deny the tension that ran through his body when the Soldier paused in his task to stare over Steve’s shoulder to the kitchen window where the light continued to fade fast.

“Probably not,” he finally tore his gaze from the window to look directly at Steve, “I’ll take full watch tonight.”

Steve just nodded. He wouldn’t argue with the Soldier when the man was clearly concerned about something.

Steve ate his share while the Soldier packed with military precision, with the occasional “helpful” verbal prompt.

“Can you just let me pack my own bag? Offer all the suggestions you want when I get to yours.”

“I’m _supervising._ Get rid of those pants. And those tops.”

The Soldier mumbled something behind his mask but followed the orders anyway. He’d split the treasures they’d gathered so that both of their packs carried a bit of everything, including a change of each other’s clothes. That had been Steve’s idea a couple of years ago in case one of them lost their bag. The Soldier had to admit it was a pretty good idea.

With a bit of inventive manoeuvring the Soldier managed to spread their new gear over the two packs and his and Steve’s utility belts. With the two jerry cans filled and strapped to the bike and their canteens and 5-gallon water tank filled, they were probably at their maximum weight for still moving relatively speedily across the terrain if they stuck to the highway whenever they could.

Satisfied, the Soldier fastened the clasps of both packs and turned on the sofa to face Steve, “Pass the map. I’ll mark this place as safe shelter with fresh water.” Steve pulled the folded map out of one of his utility pouches and handed it over. It was a map of the States they had pulled off a wall in a school classroom on the East Coast not long after they’d met. As they travelled they had annotated and adapted the map to reflect the post-Event landscape: which roads were the most dangerous, which towns and cities were completely abandoned, the new tribal towns that had sprung up, and most importantly, tribal borders. It was the most valuable thing they owned, covered in symbols that would mean nothing to the casual observer as they had the legend memorised. It was Steve’s job to carry the map. The Soldier had presented it to him one day a couple of years ago saying ‘ _If anything happens to me you can trade this to save your life. It’s the most valuable thing we have, and only we can read it’._ The Soldier drew the appropriate symbols and handed it back to Steve, “Pass the hoops.”

* * *

 

Steve had another great sleep, and the Soldier hadn’t woken him up and spirited him away, so the night must’ve passed without incident. Hopefully he’d get his third sleep in a comfy bed before they had to move on. He dressed and headed outside, grabbing a tin of pears and a fork on the way. The Soldier was still on the roof – Steve had learnt pretty early on that the Soldier loved heights (as much as he loved anything) – looking out towards the highway with his goggles pulled down.

“Breakfast?” Steve called up, unoffended when it took the Soldier a few minutes to acknowledge him. Finally he stood and jumped down, landing unbelievably gracefully for all the heavy gear he wore.

“There’s a group on the road, heading West,” he takes the tin and starts to eat.

“Anything we need to worry about?”

The Soldier gives him a long, considering look, as if he’s deciding whether or not he should lie, “Yes.” For someone so mysterious Steve had always found the Soldier to be unnervingly honest.

“Do we need to leave?” He would _really_ hate to give up that comfy, warm bed. Thankfully, the Soldier shook his head,

“Better we let them get to where they’re going. They’ll be off the highway by tonight. We’ll let them get as much mileage on us as possible.”

Steve took the tin to eat his share, “You should sleep today, if you’re going to be on watch all night. I know what you’re like when you get like this.” The Soldier looked like he was going to argue, but instead replied,

“You get on the roof, wear my goggles, keep your eyes on the road. Anything moves you get me immediately, okay?” Steve nodded, a little unsettled. If anything the Soldier’s agreement worried him. His companion was obviously expecting trouble out on the road if he was so willing to make the most of their relative safety, to get back some semblance of full-strength. The Soldier lifted off goggles and fitted them to Steve’s head. He knew the blond hated wearing them, but they had better range and clarity than the binoculars. Finally he handed Steve a full canteen, “And remember to drink.” Steve rolled his eyes at that, he’d only forgotten to drink _one time!_

“Yes, I’ve got it! Bunk me up.” With a hefty boost and more than a little scrabbling, Steve made it onto the shingle roof.

“Unless you wake me I’ll get you down in a few hours,” the Soldier started to make his way inside,

“Wait!” Steve called out, “Get me down when the sun starts to set.” Again it looked like the Soldier’s immediate response would be to argue. Instead he simply nodded before disappearing into the cabin. Steve’s bedroom was directly underneath him. He waited a few minutes before knocking three times on the shingles, wanting to know the Soldier had actually gone to the bedroom and wasn’t just stationed on watch at the kitchen window where Steve couldn’t see him. It wouldn’t be the first time. The reply was an immediate three knocks in return. Steve smiled and hunkered down to watch duty.

 

The sun had long since moved into late afternoon by the time Steve had to seriously consider waking the Soldier. A convoy, central to which seemed to be a repurposed school bus, was moving down the highway at a sluggish pace. Westward, the same direction he and the Soldier were moving. It appeared to be made up of Settlers moving further into the Desert judging by the number and type of vehicles and the speed they were covering ground. They were probably no threat. Probably. Steve made up his mind: he’d let the Soldier rest. 

In the end he hadn’t had to wake the Soldier who had swung himself up onto the roof an hour or two before the sky had even begun to purple. He’d made plenty of noise too, knowing Steve would have given him Hell if he’d sneaked up on him again. The Soldier sat down next to Steve and passed him a tin of macaroni.

“Anything to report?” Steve considered lying, but the Soldier _always seemed to know._

“Spotted a Settler convoy moving West a couple of hours ago,” he replied, focusing intently on his macaroni. The Soldier had stilled beside him,

“Settlers? You’re sure?” Steve set down his tin and turned slightly to give the Soldier his full attention,

“This ain’t my first rodeo, I can tell Settlers from Gangers. They were moving pretty slowly too. Seven vehicles.”

The Soldier studied Steve, “I know you’re capable of keeping watch, but you should’ve woken me. We’re _very_ close to Horde territory. Extra vigilance from now on: you see something when I’m not around, you get me. Understood?”

Steve nodded, “But same goes for you right? You don’t have to shoulder our safety on your own. That should’ve sunken through your thick skull by now.”

“Sure it has,” the Soldier went back to his food. “Those Settlers better hope the Reivers made good time to the Horde camp and cleared off the road. If not, we’re gonna be picking over some burnt out, looted vehicles tomorrow.” Steve welcomed the change of subject regardless of the macabre turn. Macabre was pretty much the Soldier’s middle name, he reckoned. If the Soldier had a name.

Darkness fell quickly after they’d finished their meal. The Soldier had taken his goggles back and switched them to night vision before settling next to the dormer window of Steve’s bedroom. Steve himself couldn’t be bothered to move after gorging on macaroni and had lain down to snooze on the shingles. He woke up to a deep black night sky lit only by moon and star light. At some point the Soldier had wrapped him in a blanket rather than woken him to move to the bedroom, and had gathered him close for extra warmth knowing how easily the cold settled into his companion’s bones. Steve sat up slightly and yawned, drawing the blanket tighter and nestling in closer to the Soldier’s side.

“Are you cold? You should go to inside or you’ll miss your last night for a long time in a bed.”

“M’not cold. Comfy here,” Steve tipped his head to rest on the Soldier’s shoulder as his eyes fell closed again, “You don’t make a good pillow, though. Do you want me to go inside?”

“No,” the Soldier shifted Steve’s head gently while he moved a corner of the blanket up to cover his shoulder. Steve snuggled his head back into the material. “Better?” the Soldier asked, putting his arm around his companion’s waist and pulling him further into his warm body. Steve hummed his contentment and drifted off to sleep.

He woke very well rested, but with a Hell of a kink in his neck.

* * *

 

Their final breakfast at the compound was a tin of beef chilli. Tinned meat was rare and the Soldier had wanted to save it for later, but Steve had argued that if they were brutally murdered and eaten by Hordak’s Reivers they would probably really regret not savouring the chilli. You couldn’t argue with logic like that. After both had bathed thoroughly and dressed in some of their new clothes topped with their armoured jackets they were ready to head out. Steve had again insisted on walking the bike to the highway, but this time had carried his own pack. Both well-rested they made much better time than they had on their walk down to the compound, and by the time they reached the highway Steve had to admit his heart was racing with excitement to continue down the road well and truly into dangerous territory. The Soldier checked over their gear and his weapons a final time and strapped their packs behind Steve’s seat before kick-starting the bike to life. Steve hopped on behind him and gripped the Soldier’s waist.

“You ready, punk?” The Soldier called over his shoulder above the noise of the engine. Steve offered him a windswept grin in reply,

“Jerk!”

They took off down the highway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: How these two met.


	3. Your Customary Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve broke out of his daze and ran forward, ignoring the concerned cries of his companions, “Are you alright?!”His fingers scrabbled over the Soldier’s leather-clad stomach as he frantically searched for any evidence of the serious wounds reopening. Steve stilled when the Soldier grabbed his hand and pressed it over the space just above his hip that Steve knew intimately well.
> 
> “Good as new.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How Steve and the Soldier met! 
> 
> There's a bit of gore in this chapter, not too explicit but a little icky given the context.
> 
> Also, cameo appearances!

**25 th December 2074**

 

Apparently this time of year used to be a big deal in New York. Still had been a big deal to Steve’s mother when she had been alive. When he was little she’d showed him an old book filled with illustrations of dark skies lit by colourful lights, trees decorated to within an inch of their lives, piles of presents, snowmen. They hadn’t been able to do it for real, of course, but each year Sarah had placed a small trinket she’d scavenged and wrapped in paper at the end of his bed roll.  Steve had kept every single one – the only physical ties he had left to his beautiful, sweet, kind, and _so strong_ mother.

The winters were brutal on the East coast now: snow drifts four metres deep and more, days and nights so cold you couldn’t stand it, so little food if you weren't lucky enough to find a cache of tins you wouldn’t make it. The only saving grace was the abundance of water from the melting snow. It hadn't rained for 50 years, they said. Those poor bastards out in the Desert.

Steve’s progress was slow as he made his way back to the safe house, his pack stuffed with the haul he had managed to scavenge. Most of the other Unaffiliated that ran the safe house network thought Steve was particularly ill-suited to working outside during winter. He was physically weaker than a lot of the other men and women who ran with them, and slower than the kids who could duck and dive to escape even the most determined pursuer. None of them, however, could question Steve’s resourcefulness or his sheer determination. He slipped down an alleyway and promptly tripped over the body lying there propped up against the brick wall, eyes closed, lower face covered by an armoured mask, and covered in a dusting of snow. Steve ended up on his hands and knees in snow coloured by the stranger’s blood. He scrambled back over the snow to inspect the body, assuming the stranger was dead judging by the amount he had bled out. He reached straight for the man’s tightly buckled leather jacket. Not to steal – Steve had found early on that he didn’t have the compulsion for looting bodies like other scavengers did – but it was possible that the stranger was carrying some form of identification. His fingers had just brushed the first of the jacket’s clasps when a gloved hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. The grip was so tight Steve could feel his bones grind together. He gasped and looked up into pale blue/grey eyes,

“I’m sorry! I…I wasn’t trying to steal…I was just looking for a name!” The stranger’s grip relaxed as his eyes began to sleepily close, “Hey!” Steve pulled his wrist away and reached instantly to the man’s face, tilting his head back up, “Hey! Wake up!” The stranger managed to open his eyes a little, enough to focus on Steve’s face, “I need to get you out of the snow, can you move?” There were a tense few moments where it felt to Steve like the stranger was staring right into his soul, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

 Finally, the stranger slowly blinked then nodded, immediately beginning to struggle to his feet. Steve was instantly at his side, shoulder under the man’s arm and taking as much of his weight as he could. There was no way Steve would be able to get the stranger all the way back to the safe house, but he could at least get him under dry shelter. They stumbled back to the street and across to a building Steve knew to be currently deserted. Thankfully the stranger had seemed to regain some of his strength which made it much easier for Steve to manoeuvre them through the snow banked in the open doorway. Steve took him through the hall to an empty room at the back lit by a single broken window. He helped the man to the floor and placed his pack down as a makeshift pillow. Now they were in relative safety Steve could take the time to look over the man’s injuries. His dark leather jacket was covered in blood. Steve reached out for the clasps that ran down one side,

“I need to see, is that okay?” The man blinked lazily and nodded. Steve’s steady hands worked at the fastenings until he was able to peel the blood-sticky material from the stranger’s body. Underneath a black vest soaked in red liquid obscured the wounds. Unable to see any other way of getting the man out of his vest beyond cutting it off him, Steve reached into his pack to retrieve newly scavenged scissors. The stranger eyed him wearily but made no move to stop him, “Can I?” Steve asked gesturing to the man’s torso. The reply he was given wasn’t in English and was muffled slightly by the mask he wore. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand you.”

The man looked momentarily confused as if he wasn’t where he expected to be. His reply this time, however, was in English, “Cut the vest off. Don’t touch the jacket.” That shouldn’t be a problem. Steve pulled the hem of the vest enough to move the scissors and cut a straight line up to the neck. A couple of cuts to the shoulders followed, Steve mindful of nicking the jacket, until he was able to peel the cloth away. Steve winced at what he saw: the man’s torso was a mess. Movement in his peripheral vision caused Steve to look up. The man was reaching to the back of his neck with one hand. A metal hand. Attached to a metal arm. Huh. That wasn’t important right now though. There was a soft _click!_ and the man pulled away his mask. Whatever Steve had been expecting it wasn’t for him to look so young. The stranger took a couple of deep breaths before speaking again,

“Shot. Three slugs. Need to dig them out.”

Steve’s stomach lurched. He wasn’t squeamish and considered himself a pretty competent medic, but he had never had to treat one gunshot never mind three. “I don’t know what to do.”

The stranger’s skin was getting paler by the minute “Can do…it most myself. You…help. Get clean snow…”

Steve dug around in his pack until his fingers brushed an enamel mug he had found. He rushed back through the house to the door, not realising how stupid the “Don’t move!” he called over his shoulder had sounded.

“You need to clean round the entry wounds…”

Steve set to work using a relatively clean rag and a handful of snow to clean the blood from the stranger’s body as best he could. By the time he had finished the three dark bullet holes stood out in stark contrast to pale skin. The man pushed himself up using his metal arm and scooted back to lean against the wall. Fresh blood slowly trickled from the wounds as he moved. Steve left to collect more snow, anticipating its further need. He returned to see the man probing one of the holes, metal index finger buried to the knuckle. He drew the finger out after noticing his audience.

“Come here and give me your hand.”

Steve swallowed the taste of bile that had risen in his throat and moved to kneel in front of the stranger. The man took his proffered hand and moved so that he could draw Steve closer between his legs. Steve’s heart hammered in his chest when the stranger placed his hand over the lowest wound, just above his left hip.

“I can feel two, but this one…You need to find it. Can’t heal well enough around a bullet and mushing around in there with scissors when I don’t know where it is could push it deeper.” Steve could hardly believe what this man was asking him to do. He looked up wide-eyed,

“You can’t be serious! I have no idea what I’m doing! I could kill you!”

The stranger guided Steve’s middle finger to the hole, “You don’t, I die…and you might as well have left me in the snow.” It was a shock when Steve suddenly felt his finger being pushed slowly into the hole. He shivered at the slick warm wet of it. There was no going back now, but he refused to look down at where his finger disappeared inside the man’s body. His eyes flickered up to the stranger’s face as he heard (and felt) a deep groan. In any other scenario such a wrecked sound would be downright sinful, he supposed (not that he had much experience in _that_ area). Right now, however, it was the weirdest situation Steve had ever found himself in.

“Sorry, did that hurt?” he managed. The stranger gave him a pointed look,

“You’re knuckle deep in my abdomen, what do you think? Can you feel it?”

Steve grimaced, “I can feel a kind of hard squidge, if that makes sense.”

“That’ll be the outside of my intestine. Ignore that. Can you get any deeper?”

“Fuck this is all kinds of wrong…I don’t think so,” the response form the stranger was to grab his hand and force his finger as deep as he could, “Oh _fuck!_ That’s disgusting…wait…I GOT IT! I CAN FEEL IT!” In the back of his mind he felt he was way more excited about that than he should be.

“Where?”

“It’s burrowed down a bit,” Steve had been grabbed by some weird kind of competitiveness and had started to see getting the bullet out as a personal challenge.

“Think you can get it out?”

Steve gave him an excited smile as he slowly pulled his finger out of the hot wetness, “Totally.”

* * *

 

In the end Steve had extracted all of the slugs with the stranger’s careful guidance, taking to the task with enthusiasm now that he had overcome the initial muckiness. Being knuckle-deep in someone’s abdominal cavity will do that. The wounds had now been cleaned out and sealed up using a small can of medical grade expanding foam that stranger had in one of his utility pouches.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? I’m pretty sure wounds like that are normally fatal,” Steve had asked while refastening the clasps on the man’s jacket.

“Not fatal to me, I heal fast.” Steve could believe that. The man had long since stopped bleeding and was no longer as pale.

“So, sayin’ that I saved your life you gonna tell me your name? I’m Steve,” he fastened the final clasp and sat back on his heels.

“Soldier. Just call me Soldier.”

“Okay _Soldier,_ you hungry? I got…” he pulled a random tin out of his pack, “…beans and sausages!”

“Sure,” the man shrugged. Steve worked the tin open and placed it between them. He only had one fork, but they could share. The Soldier ate a few mouthfuls before speaking again, “Why did you help me? I could be a Reiver or worse for all you know.”

Steve took his time to compose his answer. To him, the reason was obvious. Just not many other people saw it that way. “It was the right thing to do. I couldn’t leave you to die. You hadn’t done anything to me regardless of why you ended up shot to Hell.” The Soldier gave him a searching look,

“That’s a stupid way to survive the apocalypse, kid.”

Steve huffed, “I’m 22. Not like you look any older.”

The Soldier made a vague gesture, “23. Kind of.”

It was a strange answer, but Steve didn’t press it. He’d already got the impression that the Soldier wasn’t usually one for companionship or conversation. There were other things he was curious about, though,

“Who shot you?”

“Ex-associates. We had a…disagreement. A long, long time ago. They caught up with me and I wasn’t expecting it. Stupid.”

Steve’s curiosity was well and truly piqued, “Was it a gang? I’m Unaffiliated, but I sometimes work with SHIELD.” The Soldier’s head snapped up at the mention of the organisation,

“It would be dangerous for you to know.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at that sentiment, “It’s dangerous to do a lot of things nowadays, if you hadn’t noticed.”  

The Soldier pointed at his abdomen, “Believe me, I noticed.” He moved forward into Steve’s space, “But I’m one of the dangerous things you should be running away from.”

Steve looked him dead in the eye, “I don’t think I need to run from you. Even half-dead you looked like you could easily kill me, but you didn’t.”

“Maybe I just haven’t gotten round to it yet,” the Soldier had leaned so far into Steve he could feel the man’s breath on his ear. He was brought back to earth at the sensation of cold steel at his neck, “I could do it right now. Cut your throat. Hold you here while you bleed out, weakly grasping at me.” At some point the Soldier’s metal hand had wrapped round Steve’s neck. He squeezed, at once deadly but also unbelievably gentle. The blade bit into Steve’s throat. His pulse raced and his eyes fluttered closed. The Soldier’s lips brushed his ear as he spoke, “You shouldn’t trust so easily.” Then, as abruptly as the intense and unexpended encounter had begun, it ended. By the time Steve opened his eyes the Soldier was gone.

Steve rushed to the open window, “Neither should you!” He called out. Returning to his pack he spotted the knife that had been held to his throat stuck in one of the floorboards. Steve picked it up and gently ran his thumb along the blade.

* * *

 

“Steve, where the _Hell_ were you?! We were about to send out a search party!” Peggy, one of the SHIELD Sector Commanders grabbed hold of him as soon as he’d made it into the back room of the safe house.

“I ran into some…trouble,” Steve offered, at a loss for any other way to describe his weird afternoon.

Peggy looked at him, fondly but exasperated. She knew him too well. The two had skirted round a relationship of sorts when they had first met. Steve had been on his own in the 18 months since his mother had succumbed to her illness, and Peggy had been running with the same SHIELD group for almost as long as she could remember. Peggy had been so bright and so warm and so beautiful, and she had seen enough in Steve that had reminded her of her own struggles to have given him a chance with SHIELD. It was inevitable that the two would seek each other out for something more than friendship. In reality it hadn’t been sexual, they had only kissed once, just before Steve had run off on one of his hare-brained schemes. Steve could of course admit that Peggy was a very attractive woman, and that they both loved each other deeply. The problem, Peggy had explained to him one night, was that they weren’t _in_ love. They remained close friends: better than before if Steve could admit, now that there was no expectation of sexual intimacy to dance around.

“You _are_ trouble, Steve.” She punched him lightly in the arm. “Leave your pack with Gabe for inventory and come and get some broth.” Steve did as he was ordered and followed Peggy to another room where a large pan of broth hung over an open fire. She ladled some into a bowl for him. “So, this trouble…Please, tell me you didn’t piss off a band of Reivers?”

“Nothing like that, I swear! It was actually pretty quiet out there today,” he almost didn’t elaborate, knowing that Peggy would go into Commander Mode at the mention of gunshot wounds. He also couldn’t be sure of her reaction to knowledge of the man he had saved. The thought of SHIELD sending out a scouting party to hunt the Soldier down was not one he wanted to entertain. Steve had always found it hard to lie to Peggy, however. “I helped a man who’d been injured. Patched up his wounds. He was gone as soon as he was able to move. Didn’t say where he was headed.”

“ _Steve!_ You need to stop doing things like this!” Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Peggy saw it coming. She held up her hand to silence him. “I know what you’re going to say, and yes. You’re right. SHIELD is here to try and help people, among other things. But you put yourself in real danger today. You should’ve come back here and I would’ve sent out a couple of the guys with you. We’d have brought him back here and assessed his threat level.”

“There wasn’t time for that, Peggy, he would’ve died by the time I’d gone for help.” Steve’s fingers went to the Soldier’s knife tucked into his belt. Plus, any threat level would’ve been a screaming _Code Red!_ “Besides, he wouldn’t have hurt me. He trusted me, I think.” Steve tucked into his broth, signalling the end of the discussion.

* * *

 

A week had passed and the Soldier was never far from Steve’s thoughts. He looked for any sign of him during his scavenger runs, and dreamt of cold but gentle fingers wrapped around his neck at night. He’d had to force himself to stop looking in the end, the Soldier was probably long gone by now. Or dead, but Steve didn’t like to think about that.

He’d headed out with Peggy, Gabe, Morita, and Dum Dum after Colonel Philips had sent word from the SHIELD base at the other side of the city that a new tribe of Reivers was making its way down to Peggy’s sector. Today they would gather intelligence and (hopefully) avoid a clash. Reivers were ridiculously easy to track because they made one Hell of a mess. There was no mistaking their presence in SHIELD territory now, as Steve and his friends approached a wide street decorated with the carved-up bodies of twelve Unaffiliated. The corpses were suspended from ancient streetlamps, torsos split and splayed to reveal empty cavities. It was an unmistakable Reiver calling card: they would feast on the organs and leave the flesh to rot.

“Cut them down, Dum Dum. We’ll wrap the bodies and take them to the Pit,” Peggy issued the order. Steve turned from the sight to start rummaging through the trash the Reivers had left behind for anything useful. He could see that Dum Dum was half-way down with the first body when a bloodcurdling war cry rang out. A group of eight Reivers raced from an alley and charged towards the small SHIELD contingent. They were terrifying, wrapped in leather made of tanned human skin and wearing the bones of their victims as trinkets. Their weapons were heavy and sharp. Steve’s hand went straight for the knife at his belt. He fell in beside Gabe and his machete. Peggy and Morita brandished their nail-studded bats. Dum Dum had abandoned the body and dropped back down to the street, slipping his knuckledusters onto his thick hands. The four stood side by side ready to face the onslaught. Steve’s hands were shaking, but his courage was dauntless.

“Worse ways to die, I reckon!” Dum Dum shouted. It was a terrible attempt at humour, but in that moment it sounded to Steve like the funniest thing he had ever heard. He was about to retort when a figure in battle gear somersaulted overhead to land in front of the small group in a crouched fighting stance. Steve could make out three throwing knives held between the knuckles of a metal hand.

“ _Oh!_ ” he gasped. Steve didn’t notice Peggy’s eyes flicker to him. Ahead the Soldier, masked and with his chin length hair falling into his face, briefly looked back over his shoulder to catch Steve’s wide-eyed stare. Then, the mayhem began. The Soldier threw the knives together in a curving arc. 30 yards away three Reivers fell, arterial blood spouting from their necks. Steve and his companions were frozen in awe as the Soldier drew out a combat knife and rushed the remaining Reivers. It was beautiful, like watching a dance. The Soldier’s every move had brutal purpose. His every hit landed while at the same time he ducked, span and flipped to avoid everything the attackers threw at him. To Steve, the Soldier’s movements were so fast he could barely follow them. The Reivers dropped dead one-by-one until only the leader remained. The Soldier avoided a swipe with a sharp logger’s axe by dropping backwards to land on his shoulders, hands palm down at either side of his head, and springing back to his feet. He flipped forwards and wrapped his thighs round the Reiver’s neck. Gripping a bloody Mohawk in his metal hand he buried the knife through the leader’s eye socket, straight into his brain. He followed the body down as it crumpled into the snow, on his knees either side of the cannibal’s head. The Soldier buried the knife through the other eye for good measure.

Steve broke out of his daze and ran forward, ignoring the concerned cries of his companions, “Are you alright?!”His fingers scrabbled over the Soldier’s leather-clad stomach as he frantically searched for any evidence of the serious wounds reopening. Steve stilled when the Soldier grabbed his hand and pressed it over the space just above his hip that Steve knew intimately well.

“Good as new.”

“Steve,” Peggy spoke calmly as she approached, but Steve could tell from how she held herself that she was pulled taught. “Steve, you need to get away from him.” She held her bat like she was ready to swing at a moment’s notice. Morita, Gabe, and Dum Dum had crowded behind her, each brandishing their weapons. The Soldier looked unconcerned, in fact Steve could image him smirking under the mask.

“Are you joking?!” Steve pushed himself in front of the Soldier ready to face off with his friends. “He just saved us from becoming kidney soup!”

Peggy reached out to placate the angry blond, “I’ve seen pictures of a man with that arm before, Steve, and the symbol on it. He’s dangerous.” Steve looked thoroughly unconvinced. Peggy took a deep breath, “He’s HYDRA, Steve.” The men behind her shifted uncomfortably and gripped their weapons tighter.

HYDRA. The blond thought back to the Soldier’s explanation of his wounds (ex-associates), and the bullet wounds themselves. If the Soldier had ever been HYDRA, he was certain that wasn’t the case now. Steve was willing to bet his life on it.

“I don’t care. All I know is he saved our lives.” Steve was about to admonish his friends further when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He turned to face their saviour.

“Your girl’s right, I’m dangerous. You should get out of here – all of you.” He looked at Peggy particularly, “And you can be sure I’ll be out of your city by morning.”

Peggy nodded, “Come on, Steve. We need to get back.” She grasped the blond’s wrist and pulled him back to the group. “Leave the bodies,” she directed at the men. The Soldier remained standing unmoving in the street while the group moved off, Steve being reluctantly dragged behind them. The blond kept looking back until he was pulled down an alley and out of sight.

* * *

 

Peggy rounded on Steve once they were back at the safe house.

“I’m guessing that was the mysterious man whose life you saved?” They were in her private office. “Dammit, Steve! You have _no_ idea…”

“We don’t need to go over this again! I’m not sorry for what I did, and I’m not sorry he saved our lives!”

Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose, “Fine. As soon as he’s out of this city – not before – this is forgotten.” She sat down at her desk, “I need to write my report.”

Steve hovered at the door, “You gonna tell the Colonel?” Peggy paused to look up at him,

“No, Steve,” she sighed. He nodded and closed the door behind him.

In the back room Dum Dum, Morita, and Gabe had started on the moonshine with a group of off duty SHIELD members and Unaffiliated. The Colonel might never hear about the Soldier’s intervention through official channels, but the story would sure as Hell become campfire folklore before long. Dum Dum had already launched into an embellished retelling to a rapt audience. Steve couldn’t focus on the story though. He slipped out of the house unnoticed.

Steve made his way back to the Reiver site as quickly and cautiously as he could. The place was deserted, not that he’d expected the Soldier to hang around for long. Steve stood in the middle of the street and took a deep breath. He shook a little at the sheer craziness of what he was about to do. If there were any Reivers still around he’d know about it soon enough.

“SOLDIER!” The shout echoed amongst the empty buildings, “SOLDIER!” Steve was about to try again when he felt one strong arm around his neck and one hand over his mouth. He was dragged back into one of the buildings. The hand was removed as he was pushed up against the wall. The Soldier clipped his mask off.

“What the Hell are you doing?!”

Steve grinned, “Were you waiting for me?”

The Soldier gave him an unimpressed look, “I was _waiting_ to see if more Reivers would come back.” Steve deflated a little,

“Oh.”

The Soldier sighed, “And I may have thought you would try to slip your leash. You don’t seem the type to not say goodbye.”

“You’re right, but I’m not here to say goodbye. I’m here to say take me with you _._ ” The look Steve gave him was so intense, as if he was _daring_ the Soldier to turn him away. Well, the Soldier could say he hadn’t been expecting that.

“You’re something else, you know that? What if I say no?”

“I’ll follow you anyway,” Steve shrugged, though he was under no illusion that the Soldier could easily lose him if Steve tried to follow. The blond was working on the assumption, however, that the two had formed some sort of connection over mutual life saving.

“You know you’ll have to leave your friends behind? Your girl?”

“Peggy ain’t no-one’s girl,” he laughed. “Anyway, I think it’s time for a change. See what else this broken world has to offer. Never been outside of New York before.” Steve bit his lip, suddenly feeling very nervous, “So what d’you say?”

The Soldier looked at him for a long few minutes, as is searching for any sign of insincerity or unsureness. Finally, he nodded, “Go back and get some sleep. Pack one bag and meet me here at sunrise.” He was completely unsure of how to react when Steve pulled him into a brief hug, his hand already reaching for a blade.

“You won’t regret it!” Steve called out as he rushed back out into the street.

The Soldier ran a hand through his hair, “Fuck, kid, I already am.”

* * *

 

There was a tinned vegetable stew on the go when Steve slipped back into the house. He didn’t want to eat – the nervous excitement was making him feel sick – but who knew when he’d next get the chance at a decent meal. After eating he went up to his bunkroom. It would be empty until much later when Gabe and the others would stagger in a little tipsy. Right now he had the perfect opportunity to pack his stuff. The trinkets his mother had gifted him were a given and were placed in the bottom wrapped in his meagre wardrobe. He slotted his sketch book and pencils down the back of the bag, followed by his toiletry bag and his allotted food rations. It wasn’t a lot, but it was his. There was even space left over which would be useful if he managed to scavenge anything on the road. Steve toyed with the idea of seeking his friends out to give them some sort of cryptic goodbye. In the end he decided that wouldn’t be right. He would leave a note explaining his choice. If he said anything like what he was planning on writing to their faces they’d stop him from leaving or worse, try to catch the Soldier. Steve unpacked his sketchbook, wrote his goodbye as best he could, and placed it under his pillow. He stored his bag beside his bunk, which wasn’t unusual, and settled down to catch a few hours’ sleep.

Steve woke with a jolt, suddenly terrified that he had slept too late. He checked out of the window to see the light blue of dawn only just beginning to bleed into deep black. The other bunks were still and quiet save for some drunken snores. Steve had slept in most of his travelling clothes and only had to slip on his boots, leather jacket, and wool greatcoat. He undid the buttons on his foragers cap and pulled the flaps down over his ears. After slipping on his knitted fingerless gloves he was ready. Steve checked the placement of the note one final time, picked up his bag, and crept out of the house. Whoever was on watch in the building across the street would see someone leave but wouldn’t raise an alarm. It was people going in they were worried about.

* * *

 

Of course Steve had been afraid that the Soldier had lied and was already long gone without him. But Steve had not been joking when he’d said he would follow him, somehow. Going back to the safe house after his note may already have been discovered with his tail between his legs was _not_ an option. His pride couldn’t take a hit like that. Instead Steve found the Soldier sitting on the steps of the building he had dragged him into, twirling a knife between his fingers. His hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail and his mask was firmly in place. Steve half-stumbled half-ran the rest of the way.

“I kinda thought you wouldn’t be here.”

The Soldier looked up at him, “Said I would be. Didn’t want you running out into the Desert after me on my conscious. There’s enough on that already.”

“We’re going to the Desert?!” Steve was beyond excited. He’d heard amazing and terrible tales of the people and places out in the great wilderness from travellers who’d made their way through the safe house.

The Soldier raised an eyebrow, “You really don’t know anything about the world beyond this city, do you?” Steve shook his head,

“But you’re gonna show me, right?”

The Soldier stood up and shouldered his own pack, “Whatever you want to see.”

Steve relaxed. He hadn’t been abandoned. He was going on an adventure. Sure, he wasn’t much of a fighter (more of a dirty scrapper) but he could scavenge with the best of them. He’d make himself useful.

The Soldier started off down the street in what Steve knew was the direction of the city limits, where cold snow met hot sand. “Come on, then. It’s a long walk to where I stashed my bike.”

Steve ran after him, “You have a motorcycle?!”

* * *

 

“Has anyone seen Steve? He was supposed to go out with Jim to sector four,” Peggy asked the room at large. Most of the men and women who had served on the night watch were seating round a cauldron of tea.

“Yeah I seen him. Just before sun up. Crept off down the street kitted out like a scout, pack and everything,” the man who had been on watch in the building opposite supplied. Peggy’s hand flew to her mouth,

“Oh my, no!” She ran up the stairs two at a time and burst into Steve’s bunk room.

“Hey!” Morita cried out, grabbing his pillow to cover himself. Peggy ignored him; she didn’t have time for such nonsense. Steve’s bunk was freshly made and all of his belongings were gone. It was like he’d never existed. But she knew Steve. He always kept his sketchbook under his pillow. Instead there was a single sheet of paper. Peggy picked it up with a shaking hand.

_Dear Peggy and the Guys,_

_Obviously, I’ve left the city. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye in person, but I honestly didn’t think you would let me leave. But I don’t want to live here anymore. I’m 22 and I’ve never even seen the start of the Great Desert! Yes the world is a harsh and horrible place, we see that every day, but I guess the artist in me is always looking for the beauty that no-one else sees. And this is my chance to see the world. Maybe even make a difference!_

_Don’t worry about me. I’m going with the man that saved us yesterday, but I think you already guessed that. Peggy probably did ;)_

_I won’t forget you, and maybe one day I’ll see you all again (when I’m leader of my own tribe way out West somewhere). I hope I’ll see you again._

_Stay safe. Love you all,_

_Steve xxx_

_P.S. Don’t come after me._


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s eyesight had vastly improved since his eye drops had been applied, and at a distance of 50 yards he could see everything of the interaction. Everything. In the most minute detail.   
> “What the actual fuck…?”

Present Day: 2077

Steve would reckon they’d been on the road for maybe five miles after leaving the compound when the Soldier caught his attention by tapping a message on the blond’s knee. It was worse than useless for Steve to try and hear any conversation once the bike’s engine was running, so the two had resorted to using Morse code early in their partnership.

..- .--. / .- .... . .- -.. .-.-.- / -... .-.. --- --- -.. .-.-.- {Up ahead. Blood.}

Steve moved his hand down and tapped his reply on the Soldier’s thigh, .... --- .-- / ..-. .- .-. {How far}

.- / -- .. .-.. . / -- .- -.-- -... . / .- / .-.. .. - - .-.. . / .-.. . ... ... {A mile maybe a little less}

The road followed a short rise obscuring what lay further ahead. It was only the Soldier’s superior senses that provided them with any warning.

.-- . / .-.. . .- ...- . / - .... . / .-. --- .- -.. / .- -. -.. / -.-. .-.. .. -- -... / - .... . / .-. .. ... . {We leave the road and climb the rise}

Steve’s reply was to squeeze the Soldier’s waist in the affirmative. Thankfully they were crossing a relatively rocky area of the Desert and they were able to stash the bike in the shadow of an outcrop. The two stayed crouched as low as possible while they followed the road on foot up the low rise. Steve had his binoculars in hand by the time the rest of the highway fell into view. Once at the top of the rise they had a clear view across Horde territory. It wasn’t hard to see where the smell was coming from.

“Those the Settlers you saw?”

Steve refocused the binoculars, “I can’t… _Shit!_ Hang on…” He pulled a small dropper bottle from one of the pouches of his utility belt. He fumbled with the cap, “ _Fuck’s sake!_ So fuckin’ stupid…”

“Here,” the Soldier took over. “Tip your head back.”

Steve huffed in frustration, “You don’t need to do this, I can manage.”

The soldier uncapped the bottle and filled the dropper, “I know you can, but I need you operational _now.”_ He held Steve’s left eye open and applied three drops.

“I need—”

“Double dose in the right eye. I know.” He finished the treatment and handed the bottle back to Steve. “Is that all you have left?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed and blinked his eyes rapidly a few times to help the liquid settle. He refocused the binoculars, this time resulting in a clear and vividly coloured image. “I only saw the vehicles, but I’d say so. Their clothing looks like it’s painted with the same designs as the bus was.”

“They’ve been made an example of.” The Soldier stood up out from the cover of the rise, clearly confident there was no immediate danger. He made his way back to the bike. “Come on then, let’s loot some bodies.” Steve wrinkled his nose at that. Even after three years on the road robbing the dead still made him feel ill at ease. His mother would be turning in her grave if she could see him now.

They continued over the rise and down to the carnage below. Steve hopped off the bike first and set to work checking over the three bodies laid prone on the asphalt. Of course, the Horde had already picked over the dead. A gang like the Horde though had different ideas about what was considered ‘useful’. Steve glanced over at the Soldier. His companion was moving slowly across the highway. Every so often he would crouch down to inspect something in the earth at the side of the road as he reconstructed the confrontation and its chronology down to the smallest detail in his head. It was something Steve had seen him do countless times during their travels, yet the blond still found it completely fascinating.

“There was a battle here,” the Soldier stated having come to a halt in the middle of the road. That statement took Steve by surprise.

“Yeah, no shit.”

The Soldier gave him an unimpressed look. “Two months ago, approximately. The battle took place right here. Hordak lost.” He turned away from Steve to stare off in the direction of the Horde encampment in the far distance.

“So this overkill…” Steve gestured at the mess “…it’s a message, right? The Horde saving face?”

“Those Reivers I saw when we were back at the compound. Must’ve heard the Settlers were on the road behind them and waited out here. Not much of a message if they killed them inside Sand Pirate territory; it had to be at the border.” The border was marked by a Route 70 highway sign, and now the bodies of 23 settlers. They were flayed and had had their tongues cut out and eyeballs removed, and had been strung from gallows. It stank to Steve and would’ve made him wretch if death hadn’t been a stench that had become pretty common to him. He shuddered to think how the smell affected the Soldier with his enhanced senses, then realised that was stupid thing to think. The three corpses on the ground Steve had turned over were still dressed and relatively untouched, save for the killing blows and “wildlife damage”. They wouldn’t stay that way for long. As soon as Steve and the Soldier moved out of the area the animals would move back in. “Hordak called them back before they could finish with these ones.”

There was nothing of value or use on the Settler’s corpses. Steve stood with a sigh. “They didn’t even fight.”

The Soldier shrugged, “They came from one of the Eastern Unaffiliated cities down from New York. I guess the rumours we heard in the last trading station were right. Reiver bands moving south from city to city.” He gestured at the bodies, “They wouldn’t have lasted much longer on their own anyway. Looks like they were at the limits of their food and water supplies. Next step would’ve been eating each other.”

Steve grimaced. Luckily he’d never had to resort to that. Yet. The Soldier had, though. Steve remembered _that_ fun campfire conversation. He let his mind wander further down that train of thought while the Soldier made one more round of the scene. If it ever came to that – the two of them with no food, no water, no shelter, and no hope – they had discussed the most acceptable course of action. The Soldier kept his four shot ancient Derringer loaded with his two remaining .357 rounds as their “emergency out”. Steve glanced over at the Soldier ready to suggest they moved on to see his companion staring at a small object he held in his palm.

“What’s that?” Steve tried, moving forwards slowly. He knew from experience not to make any sudden movements whenever the Soldier checked out. It used to worry Steve when this happened, but it had become a lot less frequent over the last year. “Soldier…” His companion snapped his head up to Steve’s face, stuffing the object he held into one of the pouches on his belt.

“We have to go and see Hordak.”

Steve blinked, “Okay…” That was an unexpected 180; the Soldier had been adamant about avoiding potentially hostile attention. Dealing with the Horde was a fucking nightmare Steve knew, though not from direct experience. To Steve, gangs like the Horde represented the worst of this world, and he found them hard to stomach. That was the reason, he supposed, that the Soldier had never taken him into a Horde encampment before, no matter how hard a time the blond gave him for leaving him behind. “You said ‘we’…?”

The Soldier mounted the bike. “I’m not leaving you alone out here until I get more intel. The Horde right now is by far the lesser of two evils.”

“I could go back to the compound…” It wasn’t as if Steve didn’t want to go with the Soldier, in fact he always sulked for a few days whenever he had to be left behind, but this was so completely out of character for his companion.

The Soldier shook his head, “You come with me. The compound might not have been as safe as I thought.

Steve climbed on behind him, letting his hands grip a little lower this time, resting on the Soldier’s hips. His pulse ran wild to the point he was sure the Soldier would be able to feel his heartbeat against his back. Sure, his life was far from boring, it was the apocalypse after all, but this was _new,_ and _scary_ , and so far forbidden to the blond.A part of the Soldier’s life he had so far kept Steve away from. The Soldier paused as he was about to start the bike.

“Don’t leave my side. Don’t speak, unless you are asked a question. Don’t interfere…no matter what you see and no matter what I do. I…won’t be acting like myself. That’s not how the Horde know me. Whatever happens do not. Get. Involved.”

Steve nodded vigorously, ready to agree to anything. The Soldier knew him too well. He narrowed his eyes, “Promise me.”

Steve’s stomach churned with a thrilling excitement. He gave the Soldier’s right hip a shaky, but what he hoped to be reassuring, squeeze. “I promise.”

“Oh, and if they offer you meat, it’s probably human.”

* * *

 

The Horde had several mobile camps scattered throughout their territory. These were Reiver bases, the warriors alternating between patrolling their stretch of Route 70 and sending out smash and grab raiding parties to nearby settlements. Steve had seen some of these camps up close whenever they had to skirt around them under cover of darkness, the inhabitants drunk on moonshine and sex, lacking the discipline of the organised Horde Troopers. He had never seen the Horde’s main encampment: a permanent settlement organised around Hordak’s famous oil refinery, the only one for a good five hundred miles. He could see the pumpjacks in the distance, each guarded by a detail to defend against marauders desperate for the light, sweet crude. The encampment itself was large and heavily fortified, well-equipped enough to function as a town. Sentries armed with recurve bows and viciously barbed arrows patrolled an outer wall of sand-blasted sheet and corrugated metal some 20ft high. Banners decorated with the unmistakable bat sigil of the Horde fluttered in the breeze. Oil drenched torches burnt with orange heat despite the scorching temperature of the Desert. Reinforced steel gates decorated with tanned and stretched human skin stood firmly closed.

They were about 200 yards away when the first Horde Reiver called out her hideous war-cry and the drums began. The Soldier felt Steve’s bony fingers dig into his hips as the blond tensed against him. He stopped the bike and killed the engine before placing his right hand over Steve’s.

“Hordak isn’t going to give me what I want out here, if at all. This goes well and he’ll invite us into the camp. If that happens do as I say and follow my lead. It might get a bit…weird. Just go with it. Don’t worry about looking shocked or surprised at what goes on, they’ll interpret it as a little wide-eyed innocence.  Remember what I said earlier. Hopefully we’ll be in and out within a couple of hours.” Steve was half-sure he imagined the Soldier’s muttered “if this doesn’t turn into a bloodbath”. The Soldier ran his fingers over Steve’s hand a final time before reaching up to pull his goggles down so that they sat around his neck and to remove his mask. Steve was almost shaking with a kind of terrified excitement that made him feel like he was going to vomit. Sure, he’d had his fair share of run-ins with slave traders, Sand Pirates, and general bad fuckers – not to mention the urban Reivers back in New York – but he knew how to deal with them. Steve’s method was to attack like a rabid dog then to run as fast as he could until he could barely breathe, usually squeezing into a tight spot they had no hope of ever following him into. The difference between those kinds of hostiles and gangs like the Horde or the Skrull was that they were ‘loosely’ organised at best and it didn’t take much to confuse them or to make them loose interest, unless they were hunting in a group. The Horde and those like them, however, were damn armies.

Steve’s gaze snapped back to the gates when they started to open. He could just make out huge men on the ramparts straining against taught chains as thick as his neck. The sound was terrible, as wind-rusted metal plates ground against each other. Several Horde Troopers emerged on off-road bikes, each with a pillion passenger armed with either a loaded crossbow or a god-damn _morning-fucking-star_. They raced across the terrain, coming to a halt around 50 yards from Steve and the Soldier. A couple made a point of revving their engines and spinning their back wheels in the loose, stony earth. Now much closer, Steve could make out the Troopers in greater detail. Compared to the Horde Reivers the Troopers looked like an organised force. They wore the same bat sigil as the Reivers, of course, but their gear was also fashioned to match: helmets battered out of sheet metal that enclosed the whole head and face; motorcycle gauntlets covered in plate metal; well-made armour that protected the torso and groin. They seemed to promise a swift, brutal, and efficient death.

Steve’s attention was drawn back to the compound at the blare of a siren. A pick-up truck kitted out with equipment scavenged from a police car and what once must have been a military vehicle raced out into the Desert flanked by more riders. Despite the relatively fresh severed heads that decorated the vehicle, and the latex-clad male gimp chained to the bonnet, Steve’s gaze was drawn directly to the mountain of a man that stood on the flat-bed, riding the truck like it was a fucking chariot. His head was shaved save for a blue mohawk and his face was obscured by a white mask in a stylised design Steve couldn’t make out at that distance. His body was painted with cobalt and was clad in black fur, metal plate, and Kevlar. Armour held in place with human bones.

Steve leaned forward, “Is that Hordak?”

The Soldier nodded before turning in his seat as much as he could to look at Steve, “Don’t worry, this is a good sign. He might even have forgiven me for the last time we met.” The Soldier swung off the bike, “Stay here, whatever happens.” Before Steve could even begin to question ‘last time’ the Soldier was stalking off towards the group, unhurried and unintimidated.  

* * *

 

The Soldier remained unconcerned when four of the Troopers broke from the group to encircle him on their bikes. Out here, with these numbers, the Horde were no real threat. He had already mapped out in his head how to kill or otherwise incapacitate all of the Troopers if need be before they could even hope to retaliate. That would leave Hordak. He could ransom Hordak. It wouldn’t come to that though. Probably. The real danger would begin inside the compound. Even then, if all went well, the blond was going to kill him when they got away with what they needed. He could deal with Steve’s “Righteous Fury” once this was all over and they were safely out of Horde territory.

Hordak’s driver unchained the gimp. It scampered to the side of the truck where it knelt on all fours forming a human step for the Horde Commander to alight the vehicle. He clipped a chain lead to the Gimp’s collar and dragged it with him towards the Soldier. The Gimp looked up at Hordak as if asking for permission. It was granted with a gentle pat to the head.

* * *

 

Steve’s eyesight had vastly improved since his eye drops had been applied, and at a distance of 50 yards he could see everything of the interaction. _Everything._ In the most minute detail.

“What the actual fuck…?”

* * *

 

The Gimp had settled on its knees at the Soldier’s side and was gazing up at him through the eyeholes in its polished latex hood. It pawed at his leg until the Soldier placed his metal hand on its head in what read to the assembled Horde as a tender gesture. The Gimp turned its head into the touch and the Soldier made a show of providing it with attention.

Hordak snorted his amusement, “It’s missed you, I think.” Fuck if the Soldier knew why, the Gimp had just attached itself to him the first time he’d had to deal with the Horde, years ago. Playing up to the Gimp, though, was an important part of the persona he adopted around the Horde Commander: if you wanted to be accepted by Hordak you had to be like Hordak. The Gimp was yanked back by its chain, bringing it sprawling to Hordak’s feet. It returned to its knees and began to tug enthusiastically at the fur wrapped around its owner’s boot.

“I need information. And a drink,” the Soldier started. The nature of business needed to be introduced outside of the compound. Then, should Hordak see fit, they would be invited inside. It seemed so far as if the Soldier’s past transgressions had been forgiven.

Hordak levelled him a hard look, “Our mutual…acquaintances?”

The Soldier nodded. He was aware that this could go either way. Hordak would be eager for revenge even if it was through proxy, but at the same time would be aware of possible ramifications if what the Soldier suspected was true…

Hordak stepped up close to the Soldier, towering over him by a good six inches. Now again closer to its goal the Gimp clawed its way to the Soldier’s belt while it pressed itself into his side. Finally, Hordak howled with laughter and pulled the Soldier into a warrior’s embrace, right forearm clasped to right forearm.

“And you will deliver them a message of blood and bone and pain from me! It is good to see you, my friend. You will have you need. Tomorrow.” He turned to the assembled Troopers, “TONIGHT WE ENTERTAIN!” A howl went up from Hordak’s followers. The Commander climbed back onto the truck bed, this time pulling the Gimp with him. It looked at the Soldier a little forlornly when the truck started to move back to the compound, police siren once again blaring.

By the time the Soldier got back to the bike Steve was wearing what the Soldier had termed his “Slightly Disappointed, Little Bit Angry, Very Confused #2” expression. And he had his arms folded over his chest. _Fuck._ “We’re in. Hordak will give us the info in the morning.” The Soldier was about to kick-start the bike when Steve finally spoke,

“What the _Hell_ was that display down there?”

 “I warned you things could get weird. It’s just another personality I adopt when I need to. Hordak only deals on equal terms with people he sees a little of himself in. He thinks that way he can tell when, not if, they’re going to double cross him.” He didn’t mean to sound as annoyed as he had. He felt Steve tense behind him. Probably in anger. “Look, there’s a reason I leave you behind when I deal with people like him. I wouldn’t have brought you this time, but it’s important I get what I need before we head out again.”

Steve gave him a dark look, “Why? You don’t want me there so I don’t see what you get up to? You like it, right? The Horde sure look like they know how to have a good time. Gives you a break from me, let’s you ditch boring Steve for a night of fun?” That was uncalled for, Steve knew as soon as he said it, not to mention completely untrue. He just didn’t damn-well care at the minute. He could tell he was making the Soldier pissed off, and that was a stupid thing to do when they were heading into the lion’s den. Fuck it, though. He was pretty angry himself, and he didn’t fully understand why. That seemed to just make it worse. “The way you acted down there…you looked just like one of them…” It was true, as if through changes in his demeanour the Soldier had become a completely different person. Steve had seen him act a part before, of course, whenever the situation warranted. This, however, was like a whole other level.   

“That is the point! You know that! And I don’t normally bring you into these situations because I want to keep you safe! You are not going to like it in there, but I need you to trust me and to do what I say. Like. We. Agreed. Need you to run the play we make in the Slaver camps or the Horde are going to eat you up. It will give you some protection if they see you as my property. They won’t try anything if they think I’d kill them. ”

That meant Steve would be playing the part of the completely devoted “personal companion”. He fucking hated that god-damn mockery. With an air of finality the Soldier started the bike. Steve placed his hands heavily on his companion’s waist. The Soldier moved them back down to his hips with a sigh, letting his hands linger over Steve’s for a second too long.

* * *

 

Two bikes had stayed behind to escort Steve and the Soldier into the compound. A crowd had gathered on the ramparts eager to greet the visitors Hordak had bestowed such an honoured welcome upon. They catcalled and chanted, and the drumming had gone from warlike to taking on a distinct party vibe. Steve’s anger was all but pushed to the back of his mind now and he was practically vibrating with excitement by the time they entered the compound. He soaked up the sights, sounds, and smells like the artist he was, itching for the sketchbook he wouldn’t even be able to touch for the duration of their stay. The compound seemed even larger on the inside, a hybrid of industrial complex, military barracks, and fully-functional town. Structures were built from scavenged materials resulting in the same weirdly sculptural architecture common out in the Desert’s permanent settlements. Horde sigils were painted on almost every surface, some more stylised than others or in brighter colours. Decomposing bodies were strung alongside the almost-fresh in hanging cages. Everywhere he looked Steve’s wide eyes took in visions of wonder, beauty, and horror.

They were led to Hordak’s personal palace: a fortified tower constructed from a jigsaw of shipping containers. Steve had almost protested when their bike – along with all of their gear – had been wheeled away to parts unknown, but the heavy and grounding presence of the Soldier’s hand wrapped around his wrist had stopped him. The Soldier pulled him close to whisper in his good ear,

“Our stuff will be safe. The Horde don’t steal from guests. Not until after they kill them, anyway.”

They were led directly to the throne room where Hordak was already seated. The Gimp was locked in a small cage that forced it to its knees. It perked up as soon as it saw the Soldier and would‘ve made to scamper towards him if not for its confinement. Steve was pretty bloody thankful for that. If the Gimp had got anywhere near the Soldier while he was around there would be a god-damn fight on. He’d bet the Horde would find _that_ amusing. Satisfied the Gimp wasn’t going anywhere, Steve took in the rest of the room. Between them and the dais where Hordak sat there was a rectangular pool that had been dug down through the base of the shipping container and into the ground. It was lined with something Steve couldn’t make out and filled with a clear liquid. It didn’t smell, but Steve was damn sure it wasn’t water. There were two women standing to Hordak’s right in obvious positions of power. Both were dressed in variations of the same metal-based armour. One wore a waterfall of dark blue hair held back from her face by a metal mask. The other’s head was completely shaved. She held a helmet under her arm. Aesthetically, Steve found them faultless and he again itched for the chance to draw. Physically, they were terrifying.

“Leave us!” Hordak addressed the escorts. They bowed and backed out of the room. Steve guessed the people left were Hordak’s inner circle. “I welcome you once more, my friend.” The Commander made a sweeping gesture. “My people prepare for the night’s festivities. Until then sit with me and tell me news.” Hordak indicated the generous pile of furs before him. It was apparently an invitation meant not only for Steve and the Soldier: the room’s other occupants took their positions also. Steve noticed the Soldier put himself between Steve and the eerie pool as they made their way in front of Hordak. True to the part he was playing Steve sat a little behind the Soldier. He rested his head on his companion’s shoulder and tilted his face into his neck. He wrapped his arms around the Soldier’s middle and cast a glare at the Gimp which was struggling against its cage and making a whining noise. The Soldier ignored Steve’s presence, playing what Steve called the “Aloof Asshole” particularly well. Two could play at that fucking game.    

“Heard the Asgardians and the Jӧtunn are at war again. Odin moved his forces up past the Jӧtenheimr Pass.” The Soldier downed his shot and held the glass out to be refilled. “Apparently someone “besmirched someone else’s honour” during treaty talks a few months ago. You should send your congratulations on the soon-to-be new arrival.”

Hordak turned to the woman with the blue hair, “Send a raiding party under one of your Squad Leaders into Asgardian territory. Tell them to snatch what they can.” She bowed and left the room, throwing the Soldier a downright sinful look as she passed that the man did not ignore. Hordak noted the exchange with a snort, “My offer still stands, regardless of our previous…conflict of interest.”

The Soldier downed another shot, “And I’ll still decline it.” Steve officially had no clue as to what the Hell they were talking about.

Hordak shrugged, “It’s of no matter to me. I’d settle for you putting a child in her.” Okay, Steve got it now. He was almost sure he’d give himself away with the shell-shocked expression he wore. His arms tightened involuntarily around the Soldier’s waist. The Soldier must have taken his reaction as part of the act and not something deeper. It was awkward with Steve sat slightly behind him, but the Soldier managed to place his hands on the blond’s waist to manoeuvre Steve in front of him, back pulled tightly to his chest. Steve’s breath hitched when the Soldier gently ran his fingers across his cheek and jaw.

“Don’t be jealous, baby,” the Soldier soothed. His lips brushed Steve’s ear as he whispered loud enough for Hordak to hear. “You’re the only one for me.” Steve trembled. He was completely out of his depth here. This was now _nothing_ like the Slave Trader play, and there wasn’t anything he could do but follow the Soldier’s lead, like he had agreed to. Well, let no-one say Steve Roger’s ever backed away from a fight. He placed a shaking but defiant hand over the Soldier’s and guided it down to his inner thigh. He felt the Soldier tense momentarily before relaxing into the touch, squeezing Steve’s soft flesh. The Soldier’s metal fingers tapped out .. / .- -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.—{I am sorry} on Steve’s shoulder blade. Steve tapped a reply on the back of the Soldier’s hand,

.. / -.- -. --- .-- / .-.. . - / ..- ... / --. . - / - .... .-. --- ..- --. .... / - .... .. ... / .-.. .. -.- . / -.-- --- ..- / ... .- .. -.. {I know let us get through this like you said}.

Hordak grunted. “You can break the news to Katra yourself. This one new?” He indicated Steve.

“Picked him up two months ago from Stryker.”

“What did he cost you?”

“Stryker’s head.” It was a half true story. They had run into the trafficker at a Slaver camp, and the Soldier had liberated Stryker’s head from his body, though for a nobler cause than the taking of a single slave for “dubious purposes”.

Hordak snorted, “He won’t be missed by me. You a little Salomé, boy? You’ll dance for us later?”

The change in the Soldier’s demeanour was instant and palpable, more pure Soldier than adopted persona. His grip on Steve became more protective than possessive, and he once again placed himself between Hordak and the blond. “Not this one.”

Hordak gave the two a calculating look before dissolving into raucous laughter. “A joke, a joke is all.” He motioned to the server, “Give the boy a drink!” He looked shrewdly at the Soldier, “This one is special, I think.”

Steve took the proffered drink from the servant boy and knocked the shot back in one, maintaining defiant eye contact with their host. It burned like Hell, but if Hordak was expecting him to cough and splutter like some kid having his first taste of vodka he’d be very fucking disappointed. In the end it only seemed to endear him to the Horde Commander.

“I can see why you’re so fond of him, Soldier.” Hordak had been about to speak again when a cheer erupted outside, followed by a change in the beat of the drums. The Commander clapped his hands. “The festivities commence. Come,” he clapped the Soldier on the back, “you will tell me more outside.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the Marvel universe wasn't bloated and stuffed full of characters enough, I've added elements of She-Ra Princess of Power. I have no explanation for that other than it seemed so damn right at the time. I regret nothing.
> 
> (Seriously though, no more surprise She-Ra after we leave Horde territory. Probably).


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve bit his lip. He knew the Soldier hated talking about HYDRA, but at the same time Steve thought he deserved to know. “You’ve never told me. About your life with HYDRA, I mean.”
> 
> The Soldier sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his flesh hand, “You never asked.”
> 
> “Because I didn’t need to! Sure, I knew you’d been HYDRA, but as far as I was concerned you were a good man! There is nothing in your past that would change the way I think of you—” Steve managed to stop himself before he said something stupid. “You’re my friend…” He took the Soldier’s flesh hand in his own, “But whatever it is you’re planning…I need to know.”

Thanks for all the comments and kudos, I’m so happy people are enjoying this fic!

Oh, and thanks for the weird Channing Tatum fever dream I had last week.

* * *

 

 

Steve didn’t consider himself boring. He knew how to have fun regardless of what Iron Man (and _that_ was stupid name) said. He could appreciate a party as much as the next 20-odd year old man. What the Horde classed as “festivities”, however, Steve would call a fucking blood-soaked orgy. They were outside now sitting with Hordak and his Force Captains, Hordak reclined in what Steve had termed (in his head) his “Outdoor Throne” (a La-Z-Boy re-upholstered with tattooed human skin). The Gimp had been released from its cage and now knelt on its knees and elbows as the Horde Commander’s foot rest. Steve and the Soldier sat on a pile of furs to Hordak’s left, the spot reserved for honoured guests.

From his place in the Soldier’s lap Steve surveyed the scene as an outsider. A huge fire had been lit in the middle of the main square (Steve didn’t know what else to call it), where dubious meats were being roasted on spits each manned by hulking, sweaty men in leather hoods. Reiver women danced to the beat of the war drums, gyrating their hips and grinding against each other to the delight of catcalling men and women. Troopers, still in their armour, helped themselves to an open vat Steve could only guess contained moonshine, while another group sat nearby playing some sort of dice game. In the midst of a circle of baying spectators two Reivers fought, each armed with a pair of knuckledusters. Peppered throughout the scene were couples and groups engaged in various unabashed, loud, and violent sex acts. At that moment Steve decided there was probably nothing so uncomfortable as watching live sex while sat in the lap of your unattainable crush.

Many of the Force Captains had brought their own personal slaves to the party. They were a mix of boys and girls, some chained to their owners, others not. Some wore fine fabrics and trinkets, some wore scraps of fur. One of them – chained to a hairy mountain of a man – caught Steve’s eye and gave the blond a coy smile and a wave. Unsure of what else to do Steve could only return the gesture.

A round of drinks were passed out, the server even handing Steve a cup at Hordak’s insistence. It didn’t go unnoticed by the blond that he was the only slave to receive such an honour. Steve sniffed the clear liquid. Whatever was in the cup (goblet, really, by the size of it) it was definitely alcohol. Strong, too, with a herby smell. Steve was pleasantly surprised at the taste; sweet and perfectly palatable. The flavour was addictive, and Steve found himself almost constantly sipping from his cup.

“Tell me more of the situation to the North.” Hordak turned to face the Soldier and motioned his server for their cups to be refilled.

The Soldier shrugged, “Posturing. The Asgardians are stretched too far to risk entering a turf war, and the Jӧtunn still haven’t regained their numbers. Neither of them can afford it.”

Hordak smiled and licked his lips, “The Skrull?”

“Not interested, according to the word out on the road. Heard one of their upstart generals was thinking of launching a power grab.” It was Steve who had come across that interesting piece of info back at a gambling hole while eavesdropping on a party of Shi’ar Raiders.

Hordak sighed, “If only I were a few hundred miles further North…” The two went back to discussing politics and Steve zoned out.

He was on to his third drink by the time the meat arrived on a series of platters, and he was thankful the Soldier kept him right. Apparently, human muscle when cooked and shredded looked like any other red meat. Steve stuck solely to the platter the Soldier had assured him was deer. And _goddamn_ was it good after weeks of living off tins. Once he had eaten enough Steve slumped back against the Soldier’s chest, full cup in hand. A wave of fatigue descended and he closed his eyes, letting the rhythm the drums lull him to sleep.

* * *

Steve first became aware of a cold, wet sensation. It only took him a few seconds to realise it was drool that plastered the side of his face to the pile of furs he was spread out on. The second thing Steve became aware of, once he had opened his eyes, was his hangover. Certainly not the worst he’d had, thanks to Hordak breaking out the good stuff, but bad enough to make it feel like the ground was tilting topsy turvy.

With a pained groan, Steve managed to manoeuvre himself upright enough to sit cross-legged on the furs. He wiped the drool that hadn’t dried to a crusty mess off his face. The third thing Steve noticed was that the Soldier was nowhere in sight. He looked around frantically.

“Hordak took him to talk in private. Something about information.” The voice would have startled him if his senses hadn’t been so dulled. It was the slave boy that had been chained to Beast Man. The boy’s owner too was gone too, leaving him chained instead to a scaffolding pole. Steve struggled to his feet and began to stagger towards Hordak’s palace. He let out an undignified squeal when the boy grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down hard. “You have to stay here. He said.” The boy crawled closer to Steve, crowding him. “I don’t think he wanted to wake you,” he whispered, grinning.

Steve edged back slightly, uncomfortable with the close proximity. The boy didn’t take the hint. “You’re really lucky, you know? He’s hot.”

“Um…yeah, he is. He’s _real_ hot.” Steve had definitely noticed _that_ over the last almost-three years.

“You’re pretty good, huh? Seems like he’d do anything for you…” The boy almost sounded wistful. He nudged Steve playfully, “You wanna trade? Or you just gonna let me suck him off?”

Steve wasn’t sure of that was meant to be a joke, “No thanks.”

“Just kidding.” _Oh._ “But seriously…” the boy leaned further into Steve’s space, conspiratorially, “…what’s his cock like?”

Steve had no answer for that. He’d never seen the Soldier’s cock. He briefly considered lying, but that just seemed like a weird step too far in this charade.

“I’ve never…um…seen it.” The boy stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language.

“But you’re his fuck toy, right? You sure look like you are.”

Steve couldn’t shut down his immediate reaction to that in time. “Wow, thanks.” He had, for a long, _long_ time been 100% done with people assuming certain things based on his outward appearance. He was, however, currently playing the part of the Soldier’s “fuck toy”. Steve internally cringed.“He doesn’t…he just likes to touch me…” It was true! Kind of. The Soldier did get kind of tactile sometimes. Sort of…cuddly. _Ah, fuck_.  

The boy blinked. “No kidding? Well, fuck.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Maybe his junk doesn’t work. That happens sometimes. Radiation, apparently.”

“Yeah, maybe.” There wasn’t much more to say to that. “Soooo…” Steve scanned the compound, looking to change the subject. Most of the Horde were passed out drunk. “Hey! I can pick that lock! The one on your chain? You wanna get out of here, right? We could help you sneak out!” He had already reached for the pouch on his belt that held his lock-pick tools when the boy’s hand stopped him.

“Thanks. For the offer. But I can get by on my own.” That was a sentiment Steve could understand. He nodded,

“Well, good luck, I guess.”

Steve was saved from further conversation by Hordak’s unique laugh. Whatever business the Soldier had been involved in inside the palace was concluded. Steve said goodbye to the boy, wished him well, and made his way back to the Soldier’s side. He was flooded with a sense of relief that while Hordak had seemed genuinely accommodating, they would be leaving the Horde encampment alive. Finally, their bike was wheeled around and the gates opened. Hordak clasped the Soldier’s arm and drew him into an embrace. Steve couldn’t hear whatever it was that Hordak whispered to the Soldier (not with his hearing) but the hardness in the Horde Commander’s eyes and the tension in the Soldier’s body indicated a warning or a threat of some sort. Steve’s heart jumped. The Soldier merely stepped back from Hordak and grabbed Steve’s wrist, pulling the blond to the bike. Steve settled in his spot behind the Soldier and rested his hands on his companion’s waist. The Soldier had been about to start the bike when suddenly everything went to Hell.

As far as Steve was aware (it all happened so goddamn _fast_ ) one of Hordak’s Force Captains had mumbled something Steve’s hearing couldn’t make out when the Soldier was suddenly off the bike with a knife in his hand. Before Steve could even blink the Force Captain was a gurgling heap on the ground, dark blood spraying from a slice in his throat that ran from ear to ear. The group were surrounded by Troopers brandishing their weapons. Hordak looked livid. Steve’s hand, despite the shock, slipped to the knife he kept at his belt.

The standoff probably only lasted a minute at most, but to Steve it felt as if time had slowed down: That his last few moments of life were being painfully drawn out. He almost called out when the Soldier stepped right up to Hordak. He had no idea what the Soldier said, but whatever it was it shook the Horde Commander.

“Stand down!” Hordak addressed his Troopers though his eyes never left the Soldier. “Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind.”

They had made it five miles down the highway before the adrenaline wore off and Steve slumped against the Soldier’s back, aware of just how close they had come to the day descending into a complete shit show.

* * *

 

Steve must have been dosing in the special way he had cultivated where he managed to remain perfectly seated on the bike. He was jolted awake when they went off-road. It took a few moments for him to become aware that it was now twilight, they were miles away from Hordak, and he had drooled down the back of the Soldier’s Kevlar jacket. He’d blame that on the hangover.

They slowed to a stop at the base of a rocky prominence around a mile from the road. It was high enough to command a good view of the surrounding landscape and large enough to grant an excellent level of cover for the night. Steve climbed off the bike and indulged in a languid stretch before unloading the packs. The Soldier commenced his perimeter checks. They had travelled together for so long that it was a routine they could fall into without thinking: the Soldier scouted their position while Steve set-up camp. The blond had settled himself on his bedroll and was pulling out tins for dinner when the Soldier returned.

“Chick peas and chopped tomatoes?” It wasn’t the most exciting meal, but it was reasonably nutritious. Steve was so hungry he didn’t really care.

“Fine by me,” the Soldier replied, setting his rifle against the rock of the outcrop.

“Don’t suppose we can heat it up?”

“No fire tonight. Didn’t leave the Horde on the best of terms.” The Soldier took his place next to Steve and accepted his tin and fork. He was handed the tomato tin which Steve had handily half emptied and topped up with chick peas. Steve managed a good few minutes of eating in silence before his curiosity won out.

“What happened? Back there with the Horde?”

It took the Soldier a while to answer, like he was debating what to say, “Lost control.”

Steve blinked, “That’s not what I meant. I mean, it must’ve been pretty bad. What that Force Captain said…”

The Soldier placed his empty tin on the ground and leant back against the rock. “I don’t want you to know.”

Steve bit his lip, debating whether he should push a little harder. _Fuck it_ , he thought. “Was it about me?”

“Yes.” The Soldier had turned to look at him, wearing an expression Steve found hard to read. _Regret?_ He spoke so quietly Steve almost didn’t hear. “They know my weakness.”

Steve dropped the topic after that.

* * *

 

The Soldier took first watch. Steve didn’t argue. The hangover had left him sluggish, thirsty, and unbelievably tired. He also didn’t seem able to go more than an hour without needing a piss. God knew how much liquid he’d managed to put away the night before. Nevertheless as the moon neared their agreed upon changeover position Steve slipped on the Soldier’s goggles, switched them to night vision, hiked his blanket over his shoulder, and climbed up to the Soldier’s elevated position.

“Change over. Anything to report?” Steve asked, dropping down next to his companion. He wrapped his blanket tightly around his body and tied the earflaps of his fur hat under his chin.

“Nothing.” The Soldier stood and stretched, popping his vertebrae, then his flesh shoulder, then his fingers.

Steve turned to comment on the particularly bright view of the stars in this area of the Desert only to find the Soldier had already left. He felt a little wounded at that. Change over usually involved sitting together for an hour or two, sometimes talking, sometimes in complete silence. It was enough to just be…together, Steve supposed.

He jumped when he felt the Soldier drop down behind him, the man was like a goddamn _ghost_ sometimes. It didn’t help that Steve had not been expecting him to make a reappearance. Instead of brooding in peace, however, the Soldier drew his own blanket around them both and wrapped his arms around Steve. Ah, a cuddly night. It happened sometimes after a particularly stressful day.

The Soldier rested his chin on Steve’s shoulder and pulled him as close as he could. “I shouldn’t have lost control like that today. I put you in danger.”

Steve huffed at that, “We’re always in danger.”

The Soldier sighed. Steve shivered at the feeling of his hot breath on his neck. Thinking Steve was cold the Soldier drew his blanket tighter around them.

“Not from them – I could’ve taken them all if it had come to it.”

Steve closed his eyes when the Soldier snuggled his face into a furry earflap that swamped the whole side of his head. Thank fuck it was dark! Although from what Steve knew of the Soldier he wouldn’t be surprised if he could sense minute temperature changes (like the full-body blush he was currently sporting).

“I meant from me. _Fuck!_ I try so hard, _so fucking hard!_ ” Steve was shocked when he felt the Soldier tremble against him, and he suddenly felt very cold. The butterflies in his stomach gave way to a feeling of nausea.  

“It’s okay.” Steve reached back to run his fingers through the Soldier’s hair. He remembered his mother used to do this, usually to calm him after one of the asthma attacks he used to suffer through as a child. Steve was at a loss. If playing the sex toy back at the Horde encampment had been way out of his comfort zone, this was something else entirely. Whatever he said now, whatever he did, _mattered_. More than anything. Sure, he could verbally spar with the best of them, but he was no damn good at being a comforting presence. But helping his _best friend_ – that was something he could try his damnedest to achieve. “You don’t have to suffer alone. Tell me what I can do…Please.”

The Soldier clutched harder at Steve, almost enough to hurt the blond. “Don’t leave me. I don’t know what I’d do…Just…don’t ever leave me.”

Steve linked his fingers with those of the Soldier’s metal hand, “Never. I promise.”

* * *

 

Steve’s watch was uneventful once the Soldier had calmed down and fallen asleep with his back against the rock face. Just after sunrise Steve had gently removed the Soldier’s arms from around his middle and climbed back down to where their bedrolls were still laid out, unused in the shelter of the outcrop. He grabbed two tins of fruit cocktail from his pack, thankful they had managed to stock up on tins back at the compound. There was enough left that they wouldn’t have to seriously worry for maybe a week. By the time he climbed back up – much easier in daylight – the Soldier was awake and checking his weapons.

“Breakfast,” Steve held out a tin.

“Perimeter check first.”

Steve grabbed his arm when the Soldier moved to pass him. “No. Food first. We don’t need a perimeter check – no one’s been in our camp, I can manage to tell that on my own – and we’ll be back on the road soon.” Steve released his companion’s arm, sat down heavily on his blanket, and enthusiastically attacked his fruit. He didn’t need to look over at the Soldier to know he had listened to the blond and sat back down on the rock. Neither of them mentioned the previous night, nor what had happened back with Hordak, so they ate and packed up their gear in silence.

They had been on the highway for about half an hour by Steve’s reckoning before he realised they hadn’t discussed where they were headed. The original plan – dreamt up weeks ago in a bar in an Unaffiliated town had been to travel East to West across the Great Desert. They would just take their time, amend their map, avoid trouble, and visit some of the sites Steve’s mother had shown him in a picture book years ago. The book was long gone, but the pictures lived on in Steve’s memory. He had listed their names too in his sketch book, and had taken to detailing in pencil those he and the Soldier had so far visited in its pages. Their journey would end at New Triskelion (formerly Seattle) where they could exchange information with S.H.I.E.L.D Command in return for supplies and a comfy bed for a week or two. Steve had been looking forward to it. Now though, after whatever it was the Soldier needed from Hordak, everything was up in the air as far as Steve was concerned.

.-- .... . .-. . / .- .-. . / .-- . / --. --- .. -. --. {Where are we going?}

-..- / -.-. .. - -.-- {X City}

.-- . / .-- . .-. . / --. --- .. -. --. / - --- / .- ...- --- .. -.. / -..- / -.-. .. - -.-- {We were going to avoid X City}

\- .... . / -- .. ... ... .. --- -. / .--. .- .-. .- -- . - . .-. ... / .... .- ...- . / -.-. .... .- -. --. . -.. {The mission parameters have changed}

\- .... . .-. . / .-- .- ... / -. --- / -- .. ... ... .. --- -. .-.-.- / .-- . / .-- . .-. . / .... .- ...- .. -. --. / .- / .... --- .-.. .. -.. .- -.-- .-.-.- / -.- .. -. -.. / --- ..-. {There was no mission. We were having a holiday. Kind of}

-. --- .-- / .. / .... .- ...- . / .- / -- .. ... ... .. --- -. {Now I have a mission}   

-.-- --- ..- / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / ... . . / - .... . / --. .-. .- -. -.. / -.-. .- -. -.-- --- -. {You wanted to see the Grand Canyon}

-. --- - / .. -- .--. --- .-. - .- -. - {Not important}

\- .... .. ... / .-- --- ..- .-.. -.. / -... . / . .- ... .. . .-. / - --- / -.. .. ... -.-. ..- ... ... / .. ..-. / .-- . / .--. ..- .-.. .-.. . -.. / --- ...- . .-. {This would be easier to discuss if we pulled over}

..-. .. -. . {Fine}

They ended up stopped at the side of the road with the map laid out over the bike.

“Here, first.” The Soldier pointed to a city on the map, maybe a couple hundred miles from their current location. “St. Louis” had been crossed out and replaced with X City, territory of the X-Men. Steve would like to meet whoever came up with that stupid name.

“So we’re not avoiding the cities anymore?”

The Soldier shook his head, “I need to check out a few places. Figure out our next move.” The map was folded up and handed back to Steve. The Soldier was about to climb on the bike when Steve stopped him,

“I think I’ve been pretty accommodating so far, but you need to tell me what’s going on.”

The Soldier leant against the bike, facing Steve. He looked to the blond as if debating whether or not to say anything at all. Finally, he looked Steve in the eye. “HYDRA. They’re back, and strong enough to defeat the Horde on their home turf.”

That shocked Steve. There hadn’t been any serious word on the Neo-Nazi organisation in nearly 10 years, when a united Affiliate army led by S.H.I.E.L.D. had destroyed the last of their fortresses. Small pockets and lone operators had survived and continued to pop up on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar every now and again (hence Peggy’s reaction to the Soldier’s presence in New York), but never as a legitimate threat.

“How?” It was just about the only thing to say to a statement like that.

“I’m guessing the main HYDRA HQ S.H.I.E.L.D. destroyed was a decoy. Or they had enough operatives scattered far and wide that they could reorganise into a significant force if the HQ fell. Hydra are good at hiding.”

Steve bit his lip. He knew the Soldier hated talking about HYDRA, but at the same time Steve thought he deserved to know. “You’ve never told me. About your life with HYDRA, I mean.”

The Soldier sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his flesh hand, “You never asked.”

“Because I didn’t need to! Sure, I knew you’d been HYDRA, but as far as I was concerned you were a good man! There is nothing in your past that would change the way I think of you—” Steve managed to stop himself before he said something stupid. “You’re my friend…” He took the Soldier’s flesh hand in his own, “But whatever it is you’re planning…I need to know.”

The Soldier ran his thumb over the back of Steve’s hand. “I’ll tell you. All that I can. But not here, not now. Tonight.”

* * *

 

They could’ve made it to X City just before nightfall if they had pushed, but their routine was to enter settlements considered “friendly” during daylight hours. Folks were jumpy enough nowadays without scary people like the Soldier creeping around in the dark. The Soldier pulled off the road around 20 miles from the city limits. While the highways and freeways that ran through the Great Desert remained relatively traversable, more minor roads were almost completely buried by sun-baked mud and clay. The Soldier took the bike off-road, skirting a couple of abandoned settlements, to reach his destination – the dried-up bowl of Horseshoe Lake. After the initial EMP strike some people had abandoned the ultra-violent urban centres and had fled to more sparsely populated areas. Places like Horseshoe Lake were now littered with predominantly abandoned cabins and shelters. The Soldier had evidently been here before as he took them to a log cabin surrounded by spindly dead trees.

The single room dwelling had been totally cleared out by looters, but the structure was sound and a good few degrees warmer than the rapidly chilling outside air. They brought the bike in, too.

Steve picked out peas and spaghetti for dinner, and by the time the Soldier returned from his security check he had laid their bedrolls side-by-side in the area of the room adequately illuminated by moonlight. They didn’t settle down to talk until after they had eaten, legs crossed and facing each other. Both had taken advantage of real shelter for the night and had washed and dressed in clean clothes much more comfortable than those they travelled in. Despite his bulk Steve always thought the Soldier looked ridiculously “normal” and a lot less like a super-soldier assassin when wrapped up in an oversized hoody.

Steve sighed after a couple of minutes of sitting in expectant silence. “How are we going to do this? I ask questions and you answer? Or are you going to monologue it?”

The Soldier looked up through a curtain of still-damp hair. “I don’t know what questions you’d have to ask to get to the bottom of this fucking mess…” He took a deep, shuddering breath and ran his flesh hand through his hair. “Fuck…”

Steve shuffled forward until their knees were touching. He reached up and took the Soldier’s hand in his own, compelling his companion to look at him. Steve had a flash of feeling, that maybe he had been wrong to have not at least tried to question the Soldier about his past during the years they had spent together. It lasted a millisecond. Steve may not have known the Soldier’s real name, about his time with HYDRA, what he had done in their name, or even why he had left the organisation, but Steve was confident he knew the Soldier better than anyone else in the whole world, HYDRA be damned. He knew all of his tells, could read even the briefest flicker of emotion, knew that his eyes looked pale blue, but up close were grey, and in the right light were almost aqua green. Well, what was important was that Steve knew everything about the Soldier that _mattered._ That he needed to know now didn’t change any of that.  

The Soldier took a few deep, calming breaths before he began. “I’ll start by saying that my name, as far as I am concerned, is Soldier. Winter Soldier, really. It was my codename. But it wasn’t always.” He ran his thumb in abstract patterns over the back of Steve’s hand. “I…well, who I used to be, signed up at 15 to fight with for the US. In World War 3.” Steve’s eyes widened at that, but the look in the Soldier’s eyes told him it was the truth. “I don’t remember any of that. Not my name, not my family, not where I grew up. Everything I know about him came from documents I found in the HYDRA base I woke up in. That was 18 months before you saved me.

“They found him alive but heavily wounded. Knew who he was – one of the recipients of a super-soldier serum the Allies developed to try and get ahead in the war. It didn’t work well enough and the few who got the treatment were sent straight to the frontline. It’s what kept him alive long enough for HYDRA to find him. They cut off what was left of his arm and replaced it with this.” He flexed his metal fingers, arm whirring as gears shifted. “At some point they took him out and put me in. I’m a programme, for lack of a better word. Created in their image. Trained and honed into the ultimate killing machine. All I have left of him are the effect of the serum. I’m stronger and faster than a normal human, and I have accelerated healing. And these.”

The Soldier pulled a pair of battered and tarnished dog tags from a pouch on his belt and handed then over to the blond. Steve ran his fingers over the indentations.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve whispered.

The Soldier sighed. “He died. The day I woke up. HYDRA wanted to get the most out of me, their “Asset”. Used me for high profile missions. Assassinations. Covert Black Ops. Kept me in a cryotube the rest of the time. Meant I didn’t age, but it didn’t do so well with my brain. They started wiping my memories of missions. Hurt like fuck. Put me back in the freezer with a clean slate then they’d programme the next mission when I defrosted.

“The last time I woke up the base was abandoned. Looked like it had been for a decade or more. I was confused when I woke up so I stayed there for a few weeks. Flashes of memory slowly began to come back of my time as the Winter Soldier. I killed a lot of people… Innocent people. Children.”

“No!” Steve was furious. “HYDRA killed a lot of people. What they made you into isn’t you. _You_ are you. And you would _never_ hurt or kill an innocent person. I _know_ you wouldn’t.”

He gave Steve a tired smile. “You don’t know how hard it is not to.”

That took Steve by surprise, but he soldiered on nonetheless. “And _still_ you haven’t.”

“I read all of the files I could find. Learnt about the missions. Learnt about Barnes. I spent a month becoming human again. Then I made a promise, that I’d kill them. All of them. For him. So I hunted them down using the intel I’d found. I was in Philadelphia when it caught up with me. They were trying again. With children. I killed the HYDRA operatives but took three slugs. I led the kids to a S.H.I.E.L.D outpost. I managed to make it to New York when I collapsed. That’s when you tripped over me. I had been waiting to die.”

Steve gasped. He thanked God he’d tried to use that alley as a shortcut. The Soldier dropped Steve’s hands. “That’s it. My story. I thought I was done with HYDRA. That I could pick off what was left when we came across them. But now… They won’t have forgotten the Asset.” He stood and stretched. “They used to tell me I shaped the century. What a legacy…” The Soldier gave him a tight smile. “Get some sleep.”

It was only when sleep was mentioned that Steve realised how tired he was. The urge to yawn was uncontrollable. “Wake me for my watch?” There was nothing else to say at the moment. They both needed time to process.

“I’ll do tonight. Won’t be able to sleep anyway.” The Soldier slipped his jacket on over the hoody and disappeared outside.

* * *

 

Steve really did try to get a good, full night’s sleep. After a few hours of fitful dozing, weird dreams (most about James Barnes and the Winter Soldier), and his spine refusing to allow him to find a comfortable position, however, he had shuffled outside frustrated and defeated.

The Soldier was on the roof of the cabin.

“Want some company? I’ll go back inside if, you know, you want to be alone.”

The Soldier looked down at Steve and blinked, as if he hadn’t even noticed the blond had come outside. It was a testament to just how much their earlier conversation had unsettled him: Steve had never known the Soldier to be anything less than hyper aware of his surroundings.

The Soldier shrugged, “Probably not great to be around at the moment.”

Steve made sure to dramatically role his eyes, “Yeah ‘coz you’re always such a stellar conversationalist.” He smiled when the Soldier couldn’t help but laugh a little at the truth in that statement. Steve took the offered hand – there was no way he was climbing up to the roof with a blanket wrapped around him – and the Soldier hauled him effortlessly up onto the shingles.

They sat in a comfortable silence, Steve’s quip having done its job in defusing the left-over tension, until Steve yawned again. The Soldier shuffled closer until they were pressed together and wrapped an arm around the blond. Steve hummed in contentment and let his head rest on the Soldier’s shoulder. He felt as if he was just about to drift off to sleep when the Soldier spoke.

“Do you ever think about the future?”

“Hmmm?” Steve was far too tired to decipher the meaning of such a broad question.

“How you want to spend the rest of your life, I mean. When this is over, what do you want to do?”

Steve looked up at the Soldier confused. “When what’s over?”

The Soldier stayed looking out towards the horizon. After a long pause he replied, “Our partnership.”

Steve suddenly felt very, very awake, and very, very nauseous.

* * *

The Soldier had never considered himself to be selfish. Hadn’t considered himself to be much of anything except really good at killing people. But then Steve happened. He sat on the roof of the cabin while Steve tried to sleep below. The blond wasn’t having much success apparently, the Soldier could hear him tossing and turning in his bedroll. Perhaps selfishness was a personality trait left over from his past life; something that had gone unnoticed until the events of the last couple of days. He had never questioned Steve on his plans for the future because, however stupid it seemed to him now, he didn’t want to remind the blond of life outside of their strange relationship. Because Steve deserved so much more than the Soldier could give him, and he was terrified that his companion would one day realise that fact.

So he had been selfish. Taken Steve from New York and carved out an existence with him. For the last few years he had been happy.

HYDRA being back changed all of that.

Steve’s sudden question startled him from his thoughts and he looked down at the blond wrapped in his blanket and staring at him so earnestly. The pain in the Soldier’s chest was unexpected. Yes, he was selfish, but maybe not selfish enough. He reached down to pull his companion up to the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this has taken so long! I'll try to keep up with weekly updates.
> 
> Get ready for some X-Men cameos!


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was wonderfully warm inside, and the smell of freshly cooked food was to die for. A man sat at an upright piano and was joined in a duet with a young woman on cello. The man was accomplished, but the woman played exceptionally well. Steve was no expert, but he recognised the hauntingly beautiful piece as classical. Yeah, this was definitely a date. 
> 
> A girl came over with a couple of ‘menu cards’ – the day’s specials written with chalk on thin slate. “Hi. Storm’s guests, right? She already paid, so order whatever you’d like.” The Soldier nodded. “She told me to give you her favourite table. Follow me.” She winked at Steve. “It’s real romantic.”

Once again thank you for all of the comments and kudos! I apologise for another long wait for a chapter, but I needed to get this right. There’s a line in here that was basically the first thing I wrote for this fic weeks ago, and it needed just the right context! Think you can spot it?

There’s also a line from an episode of Red Dwarf in here somewhere (love that show)!

* * *

 

_“Do you ever think about the future?”_

_“Hmmm?” Steve was far too tired to decipher the meaning of such a broad question._

_“How you want to spend the rest of your life, I mean. When this is over, what do you want to do?”_

_Steve looked up at the Soldier confused. “When what’s over?”_

_The Soldier stayed looking out towards the horizon. After a long pause he replied, “Our partnership.”_

_Steve suddenly felt very, very awake, and very, very nauseous._

* * *

Steve didn’t know how to answer. The truth was that he had never even considered their situation as something temporary, and the Soldier had certainly never mentioned that fact. Steve’s stomach lurched at that thought. Obviously the Soldier hadn’t mentioned it because it was obvious. The end of their ‘partnership’ had apparently always been in sight, but Steve was too damn naïve to realise it. Desperate to avoid the embarrassment of ‘I thought we’d be together forever’ Steve thought back to the note he had left for Peggy.

“Well I always thought I could maybe lead my own tribe. Out West somewhere.” His voice didn’t shake.

The Soldier looked over and gave him a slight smile. Steve’s pulse sped up. “You’d be a good leader.”

The Soldier seemed content to drop the subject. Steve felt a sudden jolt of anger at that. He managed to keep it from his voice when he asked in return, “What about you?” As an afterthought he added, “Would you join me?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

The Soldier looked down at the rifle in his lap. “No.”

Well, that was that. The Soldier’s answer was final, snuffing out the sliver of hope Steve held that they would spend the rest of their lives together in one way or another. It was replaced with a hollow numbness he hadn’t felt since his mother had told him she wouldn’t be getting better. It felt like the grief of the inevitable. A pre-mourning. The only problem was that it didn’t make the end any easier when it finally came. It only prolonged the pain.

It wasn’t long before Steve made his way back inside the cabin. He fell almost instantly into a nightmare-filled sleep that left him exhausted in the morning.

* * *

 

Steve had decided to deal with the current problem in much the same way as he had when his mother became terminally ill: Bury the emotions down deep and soldier on through the hurt. ‘No point crying over spilt milk’ Sarah Rogers would say. He supposed he’d inherited his coping mechanisms from her - he’d never seen her cry. When the news came that his father had been killed (Steve had been just 5 years old, but he could remember his mother’s reaction with startling clarity) Sarah had gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, taken several deep breaths, then had turned to Steve with a painful smile and glossy eyes and said, “Well, there’s no use crying over spilt milk, Steve.” So that’s what he would do, smother his emotions and carry on.

He decided on peas for breakfast as their tinned fruit stocks were starting to run a little low. Hopefully he would be able to get some _real_ fruit in X City.

They ate together, like normal, side by side on the cabin steps. If last night’s conversation about HYDRA had unsettled the Soldier he didn’t show it.

“How long will we be at X City? I _really_ want some decent food.”

The Soldier held up the empty can of peas. “This is decent food.”

“No, that’s stuff that will keep us alive.” He often wondered if that made a difference to the Soldier who was quite happy subsisting on fire-roasted Desert beetles when times were tough. “Good city food…it reminds me of my mom.”

“If we’re welcomed we can stay a couple of nights. Get a nice room maybe.” The Soldier stood and popped his neck. “Go out for some nice food.”

Steve groaned. “Don’t get my hopes up, now they’ll probably turn us away.” It happened sometimes, even in cities that actively welcomed the Unaffiliated like X City did. Some people took one look at the Soldier and suddenly the gates would be shut in their faces. It made Steve unbelievably angry while the Soldier would merely look down at the ground and sigh. The Soldier had never said anything when that happened, but Steve was sure it upset him.

The Soldier shrugged. “I have a contact or two there. They owe me a favour.”

Steve hadn’t been to X City before, not even the last time they had skirted Horde Territory. He’d heard of it though – a pretty welcoming place that offered a home to those who had nowhere else to go. Provided they lived by the city’s rules. They were some tough bastards there too – had to be as the city limits butted right up against the Horde border. Hordak left them alone though, and the two groups existed in a kind of uneasy truce.

They approached along highway 70, following the line of long burnt-out houses and businesses that had once made up East St. Louis. The river – the Mississippi – marked the edge of Hordak’s realm and the beginning of X City. It was dry now, but still provided a useful defensive feature. On the far ‘shore’ the gates to the city stood closed, set within the 5 metre deep concrete walls constructed at the outbreak of World War 3. St. Louis had been an urban battleground then and the scars could still be seen.

The city seemed to Steve almost deserted as they approached. Not surprising, perhaps, as few travellers educated on the ways of the Desert traversed highway 70. The imposing guard towers at the gate, however, were most definitely occupied.

“THAT’S FAR ENOUGH! GET OFF THE BIKE AND RAISE YOUR HANDS!” The two complied, the Soldier putting himself between Steve and the guards. He hadn’t worn the mask and goggles and his hair was tied back. The leather jacket that showed off his metal arm had been replaced with the Kevlar motorcycle jacket. Steve had to admit the Soldier looked pretty approachable today. Less ‘I-will-rip-off-your-head-and-spit-down-your-neck’ and more ‘I-will-rob-you-at-knifepoint’. Steve supposed that would have sounded funnier in his head if he hadn’t seen the Soldier spit down someone’s exposed throat cavity before. Guy had deserved it though. “WHAT’S YOUR BUSINESS HERE?”

“PASSING THROUGH. LOOKING TO SPEND THE NIGHT.”

“YOU CAME FROM HORDAK’S WAY.” It was one of those not-a-question questions.

“I HAD SOMETHING TO TRADE FOR OUR SAFE PASSAGE.” Steve wondered if that was true, if the Soldier had had to give something up for the information he had needed. “IS LOGAN AROUND? OR STORM? EITHER OF THEM CAN VOUCH FOR US.” They must be the Soldier’s contacts, though Steve had never heard their names before. A brown haired girl popped up from parts unknown and launched into what appeared to be a heated discussion with the man in charge. The man disappeared and the girl took over. She leaned over the guardrail and waved.

“HEY! STORM’S IN THE HQ I THINK, DON’T KNOW WHERE LOGAN WANDERED OFF TO. CYCLOPS IS GONNA GO GET HER.” After a few moments of silence she seemed to get bored. She rested her chin on her hand and smiled at the Soldier. “SO… SAYIN’ WE LET YOU IN… YOU GOT PLANS FOR TONIGHT? I COULD SHOW YOU AROUND?”

In reply the Soldier grabbed Steve’s wrist and pulled him level. The blond ended up close to the Soldier’s side with an arm around his shoulders. “I GOT A FEW THINGS ON MY AGENDA, BUT MAYBE YOU COULD GIVE ME SOME SUGGESTIONS ON A NICE, CLASSY PLACE TO EAT AND A COSY PLACE TO STAY?”

Her eyes widened. “OH! _OH!_ SURE I CAN!” She finished with a wink. Steve was about to angrily whisper what the Hell was going on (the Soldier had said _nothing_ about pretending to be his plaything again) when the gates opened. A long-limbed woman all dark skinned and leather-clad with a Mohawk of brilliant white raced out. Steve was abandoned when she threw herself into the Soldier’s arms. He spun her around before setting her back on the ground. She stood back with her hands on her hips and a dazzling smile on her lips that seemed to light up her eyes.

“By the God’s alive! I felt sure you were dead!” She drew the Soldier back into a tight embrace and turned her head into his neck. Steve felt a pang when the Soldier’s hands settled at her waist. The woman was a goddamn goddess. “Thank you… I didn’t get the chance before… but now, thank you…” She all but whispered. When she finally released the Soldier she seemed to notice Steve for the first time. “And who’s this?”

“Steve, ma’am.” He felt like he should bow in her presence, or something. In the end he shook her hand which she found highly amusing.

“Oh I like you! And don’t call me ‘ma’am’, Storm’s my name. This is Cyclops,” she indicated the man in sunglasses behind her. “And up there is Sprite.” She pointed out the girl with brown hair. Steve had no idea how she heard from all the way up there, but she must’ve done.

“IT’S SHADOWCAT NOW!”

Storm rolled her eyes. “It was ‘Ariel’ three months ago, and before that ‘Lady Shandra’, I think. Anyway, Cyclops tells me you need a place to stay. Needless to say what’s ours is yours. Stay for as long as you’d like. I take it you’ve been on the road for a while?” That was directed at Steve. He nodded. “You’ll find a few luxuries here. Clean water, and plenty of it. Fresh food.”

“Find us a nice room somewhere, Storm. A real nice room. There’s stuff we can trade if you name a price.”

Storm shook her head. “You’ll not need to pay for anything here. For you, the best!” She clapped her hands. “Now come inside! I’ll track Logan down.”

Steve took his chance as they followed behind Storm and a sour-looking Cyclops, the Soldier wheeling the bike. He grabbed the sleeve of the Soldier’s jacket and yanked him down to his level.

“You didn’t fucking tell me I had a part to play here too! What the fuck?!”

The Soldier, in his defence, looked completely baffled. “I don’t understand, you’re not playing any part.”

“ _Are you joking?! They think we’re… you know… ‘together’!”_

The Soldier blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“If you’re fucking with me right now I swear…” If the Soldier _was_ fucking with him it was too fucking cruel. He dropped the subject.

* * *

 

Inside the walls the city was bustling. Steve had never seen any pictures of old St. Louis, but he imagined, as with the other cities he was familiar with, that it had changed drastically. It looked like a city within a city, really. Pre-war buildings bore the scars of conflict – some abandoned, some repaired with scavenged materials – and empty lots now occupied with tents in garish colours marked demolitions. Few sky scrapers had survived, it seemed. Once wide streets were now densely packed with market stalls and shop tents. Steve had been to many cities during his travels, but none of them so diverse and varied and _thriving_ as X City. The population seemed to be mostly made up of Unaffiliated, though banners painted with tribe sigils and organisation symbols. Steve was sure he spotted a banner for a S.H.I.E.L.D. outpost at one point.

It would’ve been awkward to manoeuvre through the packed streets with the bike if they hadn’t been following two members of the X-Men themselves.  Shadowcat too had joined them. She had linked arms with Steve and was pointing out various places of interest. Steve just tried to soak in the sights, sounds, and some really delicious smells as they made their way through the crowds.

The streets opened up into a wide open plaza paved with marble pulled from the wreckage of buildings decades ago and lined with fruit trees watered by a complicated hydroponic system.

“Really something, huh?” Shadowcat plucked a couple pf apples and passed one to Steve. It tasted so good he almost moaned. “I’ve seen pictures of what it used to be like – buildings everywhere! Most of them were damaged during the War if not totally levelled. Pulled the damaged ones down and built this space.” It was truly beautiful, and Steve was going to find some time to draw it if it killed him. “There’s a massive system of underwater lakes, hence all the green stuff. Forge – our chief engineer – designed and built the hydro systems. Keeps an eye on the water levels too. He reckons we have enough for a hundred years maybe. But hopefully by then the rains will come back. I’d love to feel the rain. Can you imagine it?” Steve couldn’t.

“Have you been North? To the ice fields?”

“Nope, X City born and raised. Well, abandoned as a baby at the gate. Logan found me before the jackals did. I’d like to though. Heard tales about it being so cold up there it burns and turns your skin black and blue. Here we are!”

X HQ was housed in one of the oldest standing structures, an imposing structure in a style Steve recognized as art deco. It had been a popular style back in New York and he had filled sketchbooks with detailed drawings of the style’s common architectural features. It was beautiful. The words ‘CIVIL COURTS’ were still visible over the portico while an X-Men banner was pinned between two Doric columns.  

Storm turned to the Soldier. “I have things to discuss with you, things I’ve heard.” The Soldier nodded. Storm looked down at Steve. God, she was imposing. “Can you spare him for a few hours?”

“Yes ma’am. I’d like to see a bit more of your beautiful city anyway.”

Storm laughed. “Such a keeper! Shadowcat will show you the sights. See you later, Steve!”

* * *

 

With hindsight Steve was rather glad for his tour guide. He had the feeling he would never have made it back to X HQ in time to meet back with the Soldier if left to his own devises. The art gallery especially had been a revelation. Back in New York he had contented himself with looking at colour photographs of famous works in abandoned books he found in old libraries. Professor Charles Xavier – founder of the X-Men – knew the true value of art. He had painstakingly built a collection that would once have been the envy of royalty. Once priceless, now financially worthless. Steve had spent hours there sketching his favourite pieces, leaving Shadowcat quite bored.

The Soldier was leaning against one of the columns at the entrance to X HQ when Steve got back, in conversation with Storm and a rough as Hell looking man he assumed must be Logan. With a cheery wave from Storm, an “enjoy tonight, boys!” from Shadowcat, and a gruff nod from Logan the two were left alone.

“Where’s the bike and the gear?”

“Logan stored the bike with his – he’s going to give it an oil change, check out the tyres. Was going to do it myself but he’s had a bad day. Needs some alone time. Our gear is back at our room.”

Steve fell in step beside the Soldier as they made their way between tents and stalls. It was a short walk to the place they were staying: A grand older building overlooking the marble plaza that acted as a rather classy hotel for visiting dignitaries. Steve hoped their room would have a window so he could look out at the fruit trees and sketch. In reality, their room had a lot more than a nice window. Steve eyes almost bugged out of his head when the Soldier opened the double doors.

“I only asked for a quiet room with a comfortable bed. Storm insisted we get what she says is the finest room in X City.”

Steve wandered around in awe, fingers brushing lightly against antique furniture arranged to form a drawing room. He came to an abrupt stop when he realised something. “Where’s the bed?” In answer the Soldier nodded towards one of two doors set in the far wall. Beyond it a queen sized bed with clean sheets and a pile of rich blankets. The rest of the bedroom was empty save for their packs resting in a corner. Steve turned to gape at the Soldier who shifted uncomfortably.

“Um, I can get us moved?”

“Are you kidding?! This is amazing! And for a couple of nights? I think we can manage a little luxury.”

“In that case you take the bed and I’ll sleep in here.” The Soldier was already moving to grab one of the clean blankets laid on the bed when Steve stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll share the bed. No big deal, right?” At the same time his mind screamed _What are you doing, Steve?! This is too much! Abort!_ Sleeping curled against one another as protection against the frigid Desert nights was one thing. Sleeping together in a warm, safe bed when one party had a violent crush on the other was another. Steve just _knew_ he was going to wake-up hard. And that was the best case scenario. He worried his lip while waiting for an answer, secretly hoping the Soldier would decline while his chest ached for him to accept.

“Yeah. No big deal.”

* * *

 

Behind the other door was a bathroom a handwritten note helpfully explained didn’t work. The current water situation didn’t really support early-21st century plumbing. Instead the note pointed to the roof where a cold water shower had been installed, or downstairs to the composting toilet. Steve was pretty thankful he wouldn’t be shitting behind a rock that night.

Steve took first shower. It was fucking glorious. He hadn’t even managed to have such a satisfying all-over wash at the compound they’d found. By the time the two made it back to their room they were both squeaky clean and dressed in clean, comfortable clothes. Well, comfortable sweatpants. It was too damn hot to put a shirt on after a shower. Steve took the opportunity to wash their dirty clothes and leave their boots on the sill next to the open window to air out.

“Can you wait till later to eat? Maybe 8?” The last Counting House announcement played over the plaza while they were showering put the current time at around 4:30, Steve reckoned.

“Sure. You going to go explore the city? I’m just going to sit here and tidy up the sketches I did today.” Steve had already pulled out his sketchbook and pencil tin.

“I’m going to get some sleep. Wake me if you need me.”

Steve completely lost himself to his art once the Soldier disappeared into the bedroom. It wasn’t until the 7 o’clock Counting House broadcast that he suddenly looked up from his drawing and noticed the night sky descending. Apparently he’d been on auto-pilot when he’d lit the six candles in front of him. Steve’s stomach grumbled while he packed up his art supplies.

“You should’ve woke me if you were that hungry.” Steve didn’t jump for once. He hoped he was finally becoming accustomed to the Soldier’s ghost-like presence. The Soldier took one of the candles and used the flame to light two large oil lamps positioned in the room. Once turned up they gave off a decent enough amount of soft yellow light.

“Didn’t realise. I’d been gripped by the artistic muse.” He mirrored the Soldier’s clothing, swapping his sweatpants for BDUs and zipping up a hoody to wear under his leather jacket. Finally he pulled his ushanka on. “So where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. You’ll like it.”

* * *

 

The city at night was positively alive. Burning torches lit the streets and braziers at regular intervals keep the worst of the chill at bay. Vendors traded hot and cold food in exchange for items of use, while street performers wowed small crowds. Steve thought right then that if he and the Soldier were inevitably to part ways one day in the future, he could find a home in X City.

The Soldier led him down a street filled with eateries specialising in a plethora of different cuisines and each filled with patrons. Their destination was a small restaurant at the end of the street where candlelight spilled from the windows and the sound of soft music trickled out. To Steve it was starting to look like the Soldier was taking him on a date without actually realising it. It was kind of tragic in a Young Adult novel kind of way (a secret vice of the blond). The Soldier even held the door for him. If he ended up pulling Steve’s chair out for him, the blond was going to punch him in the face.

It was wonderfully warm inside, and the smell of freshly cooked food was to die for. A man sat at an upright piano and was joined in a duet with a young woman on cello. The man was accomplished, but the woman played exceptionally well. Steve was no expert, but he recognised the hauntingly beautiful piece as classical. Yeah, this was definitely a date.

A girl came over with a couple of ‘menu cards’ – the day’s specials written with chalk on thin slate. “Hi. Storm’s guests, right? She already paid, so order whatever you’d like.” The Soldier nodded. “She told me to give you her favourite table. Follow me.” She winked at Steve. “It’s real romantic.”

The terrace a tiny yard at the back of the main restaurant, its own private space, yet close enough for diners to still hear the music being played indoors. There was enough room for a single table with two chairs, a lit brazier, and a shit load of tea lights. Thankfully, no one pulled out Steve’s chair for him. “Can I get you something to drink? Storm left a recommendation if you’re interested.”

“That’ll be perfect, thanks,” Steve replied. She handed them the menus and took their jackets, the brazier providing more than enough heat. Steve looked over the menu. “How does a place like this even work? How does this whole _city_ even work?” It was completely unlike anything Steve had seen before, even in his childhood memories of New York when half of the city was still at least partially operational.

“On a barter system, much like everywhere else for the most part. But the waitress here will be paid with X City’s own currency.”

Steve’s eyes widened at that. “Like money? Why doesn’t everyone here use it?”

“A lot of the people who live here have a trade or a skill. They can provide services or produce goods for barter. The people who can’t do that take jobs and get paid in credits which they can use to purchase goods. Traders take the credits back to X HQ to exchange for essentials like water tokens. It was the Professor’s idea. He didn’t want to turn away good people just because they weren’t fortunate enough to have something to trade.”

“That’s amazing! Imagine if there were more places like this!”

The Soldier shrugged. “It works because the people here are determined to make it work. And because the city has strong defences and its own small army. Every citizen undergoes training to protect the city from hostiles.”

And with that, Steve may have found his calling in life. “Do you think more cities like this would work?”

“Sure, if you get the right combination of people, resources, and location. Iron Man’s trying something similar further out West, but he’s insane.” The Soldier nodded at Steve’s menu. “Decided?” Steve suddenly realised the waitress was waiting for his order.

Truthfully, Steve had barely even looked at the selection. The choices were sparse, but really what could you expect in a post-apocalyptic wasteland? It was still better than anything else he’d seen… well, ever. They both decided on spiced chicken served with roast vegetables.

“It’ll be a little while, everything in prepared to order.” The girl placed two wine glasses on the table and poured a generous serving of red in each. “Our own wine, Storm’s favourite. Thanks to the water here we have the perfect conditions for growing grapes.” She placed the open bottle on the table.

“You really like it here, huh?” Steve asked. She flashed him a brilliant smile.

“I ran away from a Slaver camp when I was maybe eight. Couldn’t read or write, could barely speak! No skills or talents to name. If I hadn’t made it here I would be dead by now, or worse. Now I’ve had an education, and the Maximoff’s – on the piano and the cello, they own the place – are having me trained as a chef. I could never have imagined, back as a child in the Slaver convoy, that _this_ would be my life.” With a final smile she bounced off to put their order in.

Steve sighed. “With a few more places like this the world would be a better place.” He took a sip of wine. “Oh my God this is amazing!”

The food when it arrived was amazing too, and Steve practically groaned at the taste of the chicken. Then, when the waitress cleared the plates, she mentioned dessert. Steve was not going to let that opportunity pass. She returned with two small plates of melon cubes and strawberries drizzled with honey. By the time they finished eating and were on their last glass of wine each, Steve was stuffed and pleasantly tipsy.

“I could so live here. Maybe make a living as an artist.” He swirled his wine and almost spilled it over the rim. The Soldier stared at him for a few moments before finally asking,

“Why don’t you?”

Steve stilled, glass half-way to his lips. “What?”

“That’s why you wanted out of New York, right? See the Great Desert, find a place to really belong? I’ve shown you about as much as I can. Maybe this is where you’re meant to be…”

 _Okay_ , Steve thought. _This has gone from a date to a breakup._ Problem was only one of them seemed to know. It didn’t take long for Steve to go from shocked and confused to angry as Hell.

“What the fuck?!” That was said loud enough to attract the waitress’s attention.

“Look, now my ex-employers are involved it’s going to get dangerous. Like ‘there-is-a-strong-possibility-I-will-die’ dangerous. You’d be better off if we split now.” What made it worse from Steve’s point of view was that the Soldier couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“Bullshit!” Okay, there was a lot of attention on them now. “If you’re sick of me have the fucking balls to say it!”

The Soldier still wouldn’t look at him. “That’s not—”

“NO!” Steve stood and downed the rest of his drink before slamming the glass back down. He was so damn hurt. He glared down at the Soldier. Then he said the worst possible thing he could think of. “It’s a good fucking job you can’t remember who you were, ‘coz James Buchanan Barnes would probably be pretty fucking ashamed to discover he ended up a goddamn coward like you!”

Steve had planned on saying his piece and then storming out of the restaurant, all self-righteous fury. Instead he didn’t get the chance. The Soldier stood and stormed out instead, refusing to meet Steve’s gaze. The blond could only watch him grab his jacket from the waitress. He saw the Soldier reach into one of the pouches on his belt and pull out a glittering, imposing necklace of real emeralds he’d scavenged from somewhere. He fastened it around the girl’s neck.

“Here, for the trouble we caused.” And with that he left.

The girl reached up the gently touch the jewels. Then she slowly walked over to Steve and held out his jacket. “Look, it’s not my place to and I don’t know the story, but… that was a shitty thing to say to your boyfriend.”

He opened his mouth to tell her she knew jack shit about their relationship, but she beat him to it.

“I’ve known some fucking horrible people in my time, some down-right evil, and I recognise the rare sight of a decent man when I see one. The way he was looking at you – it’s like you’re the Sun. You don’t deserve him.” Well, there was no comeback to that. Steve took his jacket and left, suddenly embarrassed about his outburst, and very, very regretful.

He wasn’t sure if the Soldier had gone back to the room or not, and Steve didn’t want to see him right now. The guilt was too much. That almost made him laugh. Who was the fucking coward now? He wandered aimlessly feeling hollow and empty until the Counting House broadcast midnight. It was probably safe to head back now.

Steve’s heart was beating a riot in horrible anticipation for another one-sided argument when he opened the door to their room. Inside the Soldier was curled up on the sofa. He looked asleep, but Steve knew better. The blond was being ignored. Fine. Two could play that game. The guilt he’d been feeling was replaced with annoyance.

Steve eventually fell into a fitful sleep in the too-big, too-empty bed. He guessed there was a reason his mom had always said ‘don’t go to bed on an argument’.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t worry about it, and apology accepted.” Steve looked quickly away, debating whether or not he wanted to say what was on his mind. There was no doubt that Brock was a very attractive man, and he’d been so easy to talk to yesterday. Fuck it, he thought. “And I don’t get a lot of opportunities to practice my reaction to bad pick-up lines.” He finished with a shy smile.
> 
> Brock looked hopeful. “So…I haven’t screwed over my chances of taking you out for a drink tonight?”

Loving the comments and kudos! Knowing that my readers are enjoying this story makes me so excited to write!

* * *

 

Steve woke late after having finally fallen into a deep sleep. He lay staring at the ceiling for a while, trying to work out what the Hell he was going to say when he walked out through that door. It would go one of two ways depending on whether or not Steve could keep his emotions under control. He took his time dressing, trying to delay the inevitable. Then, after three deep breaths, he opened the door… To find the other room completely deserted, all signs of the Soldier gone save for a hand written note left on the sofa. It was written in the Soldier’s distinctive handwriting. Steve felt like he was going to vomit.

His hands shook as he held the paper – a blank page from his sketchbook. Underneath the paper lay a set of tarnished dog tags. Steve tried three times to read the first sentence before any of the words sank in.

_Steve,_

_You’re right, I am a coward. Which is why I’m leaving this instead of saying goodbye in person. I’m scared that if I don’t run now that I’ll never be able to leave you, and I need to go._

_You aren’t safe with me._

_Stay in X City, live your life. Take your chance at happiness._

_Storm will help you get settled in the city, then her debt to me is considered paid._

_Don’t come after me. Don’t waste your life on me._

_[LINE VICIOUSLY SCRIBBLED OUT]_

_Soldier_

Steve clutched at his chest and sank to his knees, struggling to breathe. It felt like the asthma he had suffered from as a child, aggravated by the dust of ruined New York, but oh so much more raw, like he was bleeding inside. He held back the tears as long as he could.

He collapsed on the sofa and buried his face into a cushion that smelt of the Soldier, tags clutched painfully in his fist. It made him cry harder.

* * *

 

Steve had half-listened to several Counting House broadcasts by the time there was a knock at the door. He tried to ignore it, but whoever it was they were persistent. He pulled himself off the sofa and shuffled to the door, vaguely aware but ultimately uncaring that he looked like shit. It was Storm.

“Mind if I come in?”

Steve didn’t reply, just left the door open for her. He found himself back on the sofa, cushion clutched to his chest. Storm went to sit on the desk against the wall, arms folded lightly across her chest. Steve rubbed at the tears threatening to fall before speaking.

“What time did he leave?”

“Around four.”

Steve sniffed. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “It’s my fault. We had a fight last night.” He winced at the wording. “That’s not entirely true. I shouted at him until he left.”

Storm sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I heard. News travels fast in X City. Everyone’s gossiping about the little firecracker who unceremoniously dumped his boyfriend in the middle of Maximoff’s.”

Steve groaned. “He wasn’t my boyfriend. We were just… temporary associates, I guess.”

“That’s a pity. You two were cute together, and that’s not a word I would normally apply to him.”

His eyes had dried and Steve found it getting easier to talk around the lump in his throat. “He said you and the guy – Logan – owed him a debt. What happened?”

She gave him a considering look, as if she were debating whether or not that was a story to tell. “Logan and I were trapped in a situation from which there was no escape. He saved our lives when he could easily have been killed in our place. He risked death for complete strangers. That is not something to take lightly in times like ours.”

That only made Steve feel worse. “He wants me to stay here. Says if you let me, your debt to him is paid.”

Storm scoffed. “It is not his decision to make whether or not my debt is paid.” Despite his curiosity Steve didn’t press the subject, now just wasn’t the time. “There’s a place for you here if you want it. The Soldier says you’re a damn good scavenger with a little medical skill, and a scrappy little fighter, too. We could use you.”

Steve laughed bitterly. “He tell you to say that?”

Storm frowned. “Don’t presume _anyone_ tells me what to say. You have skills we can use, it’s as simple as that.”

Steve flushed and looked down at his feet. “Sorry, ma’am.”

Storm sighed and pushed off the wall. She came to kneel in front of him and took his hands into hers. “It hurts, I get that. Believe me, I do. But – in my opinion, which may not mean much to you – he did what was best to protect the most important thing in his life. Like that old saying – if you love something, let it go.”

Steve’s eyes welled up again. He looked Storm in the eye. “That wasn’t his decision to make.”

* * *

 

Thanks to the skills and experience he gained during his travels through the Desert, Steve was taken on by the X-men on a trial basis. His new home was a shared bunkroom in the X-Men barracks for junior members, housed in an old low-rise apartment block. Shadowcat helped him move in.

The room was nice enough, and his fellow X-Men recruits were warm and welcoming. Steve could hardly appreciate it, however, as he went through the polite motions numbly. His new roommates invited him out regularly to their favourite haunt. He rarely accepted. Instead he threw himself into his new role, sharing nursing station duties with Jean and Hank and doing scavenging runs with Gambit and Rogue. He frequently called in at the S.H.I.E.L.D. field station based in the city, occasionally bumping into old acquaintances from his New York days. He made sure he was on hand to help Storm whenever she got bogged down with the bureaucracy involved in running even a post-apocalyptic city! He even began spending time with the surly Logan in the garage, operating as a kind of mechanic’s assistant to the older man. Steve didn’t like to admit that he really hung around Storm and Logan because they were some tangible, living link to the Soldier.

Steve did what he could to fill his days as much as he could. Night time was a different story. Storm had to ban him from taking double guard duty shifts in his attempt to avoid the dreams. There were three kinds, each terrible in their own way. In the first the Soldier would die, leaving Steve to bolt upright in the darkness of the bunkroom, gasping. In the second the Soldier would take Steve’s face in his hands and kiss him, sometimes going further, sometimes not. Steve would wake to either a hard cock or a sticky belly. In the third Steve would dream well – about his mother, about New York, about Peggy and his friends, about fantastical places he had created in his imagination. It was like he had never met the Soldier, and it would leave him aching.

He didn’t enjoy working at the nurses station, it reminded him too much of the night he had met the Soldier. Scavenging with Gambit and Rogue, though, was fun despite Steve ending up feeling like a third wheel most of the time. They had made a run up to ghost town further down the highway when things took a more sinister turn. Graffiti of course was normal: gang symbols, Bible quotations, messages to lost loved ones, obscene and crude artwork, random swear words and creative insults. Paper was in short supply, but walls weren’t. This though, as Rogue put it, was freaky. It was a code of some sort – again, not wildly unusual – but it was _everywhere_. Always written in blood.

“Have y’all _ever_ seen anythin’ like this?” Rogue was fascinated by the macabre scene. Steve was already copying the various coded messages and symbols into his sketchbook to the point he was almost running out of paper.

“Reivers?” Gambit had asked.

Steve shook his head. “Have you ever seen a Reiver leave a message?”

Gambit shrugged and continued to route around for supplies. It proved fruitless save for a few trinkets as the town had been well and truly done over quite recently.

“Hey Steve!” Rogue called from inside one of the gutted buildings. He found her staring at a 10ft tall painting of a skull rendered in blood, the words “ORDER THROUGH PAIN” slapped underneath.

Steve sucked in a breath. “What the Hell…”

* * *

 

The Soldier hunkered down for the night in the ruins of an abandoned pill box, a relic of the War. He’d been running on empty for days, since leaving X City and Steve behind.

It hurt to think about him. The Soldier sighed and rubbed his flesh hand over his face, pushed his dirty hair back. Solo assaults on several underground HYDRA bases had taken their toll. He remained thankfully free of any real injuries beyond a few cuts and bruises that healed quickly and did little to bother him. The same could not be said for the bone-deep weariness that had settled over him. The only thought that kept him going was that Steve needed to be safe, and he couldn’t be safe in a world that included HYDRA. He had forgotten to be careful these last few years, became complacent. He’d let HYDRA regroup when he should’ve wiped them out after New York. Instead they had grown in the shadows, and it was _his fault._ Now they would know about Steve. Of course they would. The uneasiness he felt as he was sure they were being watched back at the compound.

Steve would be safe back at X City. The X-Men were formidable fighters, and S.H.I.E.L.D. were there too. In his weaker moments the Soldier entertained the thought of going back once this was all over… back to Steve. Steve. Perfect Steve. Steve he was in love with.

Love. The Soldier blinked slowly. The effort of keeping his eyes open was becoming too much.

There was a memory. A warm kitchen. It was raining (raining?). He sat at a table, a young girl around 10 opposite him. She was drawing with crayons (crayons?). In the memory he must be small too, he remembered his feet didn’t reach the floor. A woman was washing up. She was singing softly…

_A lovestruck Romeo sings the streets a serenade_   
_Laying everybody low with a love song that he made,_   
_Finds a streetlight, steps out of the shade_   
_Says something like “You and me babe, how about it?”_

The little girl didn’t look up from her drawing when she asked, “Mom, how do you know when you’re in love?”

“What’s that honey?” She kept humming the melody.

“How do you know when you’re in love?”

The woman dried her hands and turned around to lean against the sink, giving the child her full attention. “That’s a very grown-up question.”

The girl huffed. “I _am_ very grown-up.”

The woman smiled. “Well, little miss, love means that you are prepared to protect and care for the people closest to you, no matter how much it costs or, sometimes, how much it hurts.”

“I love you, mom. And dad, and Bucky,” with that she smiled at him. Bucky. Huh. “But I might love Micheal Moody as well. He says we’re going to get married.”

“Oh yeah? You love him enough to give him all your comic books?”

The girl pulled a face. “No!”

“Well maybe you’re in like with him instead, I would have given your father all of _my_ comic books.” She tenderly stroked the girl’s hair.

‘Bucky’ didn’t say anything, but he _thought_ plenty. And his first thought was that his mother had it wrong. If you love someone you don’t _give_ them your comic books, you _share_ them. You share _everything_.

The memory faded.

Would James Buchanan Barnes have loved Steve? Had he been married? The file he had seen had ‘NONE’ listed beside ‘Spouse/Partner’. Even if he had, they would be long dead by now.

But the Soldier loved Steve, and he’d like to think Bucky would have shared his comic books with the blond. He couldn’t imagine _anyone_ not wanting to share their comic books with Steve. Someone in X City might want to share their comic books with Steve.

The Soldier pulled his blanket tighter.

* * *

 

The Commander surveyed the carnage. It was messy as Hell but frighteningly efficient. Personal.

“Revenge.”

Rumlow stepped forward and cleared his throat. “That’s not it, Sir.”

The Commander turned to look at him. “You have some insight, Rumlow?” He sounded intrigued.

“You tasked my operatives with keeping tabs on the Asset. We have, as much as we were able to given the state of the organisation.” He held out a thin dossier to the Commander. “Goal was to bring him in when we were strong enough to contain him again.”

The Commander flipped through the few pages of text – written accounts, hearsay, stories – relating to the Asset’s movements since he went rogue. Certain words had been highlighted. The Commander read out, “’Blond’, ‘companion’, ‘little punk kid’”. He passed the dossier back. “He’s been travelling with this kid since you encountered him in New York?”

Rumlow nodded. “That’s the Asset’s remit now, Sir. He’s got something to protect. He’s in ‘us-or-them’ mode now, and he won’t stop until we kill him or he wipes us out.”

The Commander set his hard gaze on Rumlow. “Why didn’t you bring this to us earlier?”

The operative shifted uncomfortably. “It wasn’t considered priority, Sir.”

“It is now. Find the blond. He’s the Asset’s weakness.”

Rumlow had made it to the wrecked door before the Commander called out to him.

“And Rumlow?”

“Sir?”

“You’ll want to pray you didn’t leave this too long to bring to Him. Find the kid.”

The operative offered a salute and left the room. Outside the base the rest of his team waited, each with S.H.I.E.L.D. stencilled on the back of their mismatched body armour. Rumlow pulled out a map and laid it on the bonnet of a truck.

“Last sighting of the Asset was around here,” he pointed to the vague area of the compound. “They’ll have carried on down Route 70 – there’s no other passable road in that area until X City and we know they were going West.”

 Rumlow’s Second, Rollins, rubbed his chin. “Given the time frame the kid could be at any one of these three locations.” He indicated his choice on the map. “Unless the kid took off on his own.”

“Possible. We split into two-man teams, each take a location. Ask around but be discreet. Don’t send word unless you get a positive sighting, you all know the description. If not we meet at Base Delta in one week. Dismissed.”

* * *

 

It was a slow evening shift at the medical station. Steve had wished Storm had let him keep a copy of the strange codes he had copied down at the abandoned town a few days ago. He could have been using this time to try and break it. Instead the pages had been pulled out of his sketchbook – for which Storm had been very sorry. He had gone with Rogue to make a report as soon as they had made it back to X City while Gambit had gone to inventory the few things he had managed to find. So far neither he nor Rogue had heard anything else about their discovery, something which had piqued the interest of the two junior X-Men. Rogue had even suggested they put their heads together over a bottle of moonshine to try and come up with some theories. He had quickly found out that she loved his kind of stuff, and he was sorely tempted to take her up on the offer.

There was suddenly a commotion outside. Steve was just about to open the door when Cyclops burst through supporting a very beat-up looking man. Steve worked on efficient auto-pilot, first cleaning the blood from the man’s face to get a better look at his injuries. Cyclops didn’t hang around. He had just deposited the man in a chair, told Steve he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative who had run into trouble on the highway along with his mission partner. Steve had asked whether the man’s partner required medical aide while mopping up the blood.

“He’s fine – a couple of bruises probably. He’s gone to the S.H.I.E.L.D. station to make a report.” Steve was about to ask Cyclops if they needed an extra pair of hands on the gates after his shift finished, but he was already on his way out of the door. That was fine, Steve didn’t like him anyway.

He turned his attention back to his patient. “Well the good news is it looks worse than it is. What happened?”

The man hissed when Steve applied some alcohol to a nasty cut on his brow. “It was stupid. Thought a building we were going to bed down in was empty. Turns out there were a couple of wayward Reivers using it. Took me by surprise before Jack could come to my rescue.”

“That your partner?” Steve moved to a cut on the man’s lip.

“Yeah. We were going to bypass here and move straight on to our next recon location, but he reckoned I needed to get checked out. He threatened to knock me out and drag me if I didn’t agree.”

Cuts cleaned, Steve pressed a compress to the swelling around the man’s eye. “You’re gonna have a real shiner in a couple’ hours, but apart from that you’ll be okay.”

“I told him I’d be fine, but he’s a real mother hen. I’m Brock, by the way.”

Steve fastened a clean bandage around Brock’s head, covering the worst wound on his brow. “Steve. You saved me from a really boring end to my shift.”

Brock laughed, “Yeah? Well, I’m pleased I could help you out, Steve.”

Steve stilled slightly before going back to work fixing the man’s really quite nice looking face. Was this flirting? “You and your partner on your way tonight?” He had no idea what prompted him to ask that, apart from the fact he felt Brock easy to talk to in the few minutes he’d known him. He was surprised to find he would like to know Brock better.

“Probably hang ‘round a few days now. See if the S.H.I.E.L.D. station here has anything for us to check out while we’re in the area. You got any suggestions on how to pass the time around here?” That definitely sounded like flirting.

“Sorry, but I’m not exactly known as the life and soul of the party.”

Brock gave him what could be described as a ‘suggestive smile’. “I don’t believe that at all.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat and he fumbled the bloody rag he was about to clean up. He was thankful that Brock seemed to realise he had made him uncomfortable. The S.H.I.E.L.D. operative stood and stretched. “Thanks for the patch-up job, Steve. Enjoy the rest of your night.” He stopped at the door and gave Steve a small smile. “Hope I see you around.”

Steve stood blinking at the door for a few minutes after his patient had gone, replaying in his head what the Hell had just happened. And how attractive the man had looked when he smiled.

* * *

 

The Soldier had apparently developed a habit of forgetting to eat now that there was no one around to tell him. Either that or he just didn’t want to eat. Mealtimes now were particularly lonely, just like night times now were particularly cold. He hoped that Steve was warm back in X City. Warm and fed. He hoped his friend was happy, too. God knows the Soldier wasn’t.

The Soldier stretched out his wounded leg. It would heal well enough to move in a few hours now that he had removed the shards of metal that had shredded his flesh. It had been a sloppy mistake and the Soldier deserved his injuries. His head hadn’t been on straight. _Let that be a lesson to you_.

The base had been cleared though, and it had been reduced to a smouldering pile of rubble. The intel he had gathered was worse than useless, but there were now 12 fewer HYDRA in the world than there had been that morning.

He rested his head back against the side of the burnt out old school bus that was home until his leg healed and closed his eyes. They would be really gunning for him now. For the first time he realised he likely wouldn’t be getting out of this alive. If he was honest, that would probably be for the better.

* * *

 

Steve had his back to the open door and was tidying the medical supplies when he heard footsteps approaching. He looked up and smiled at S.H.I.E.L.D. operative he had patched up the previous day. “Hey, did you need me to check your dressings?”

The man leaned against the door frame, arms lightly folded. “Nah, just wanted to stop by and say thanks again.”

“No thanks necessary – just doing my job,” Steve smiled. He carefully folded scraps of material that had been cut into strips to use as bandages.

“Pretty important job, though.”

Steve shrugged, still tidying. “I’m used to dealing with injuries a lot more gruesome than a beat-up face. Not what I’d prefer doing, though…” He mumbled the last part. “Get to go out with the scavenging party tomorrow, that’s more my speciality!” He noticeably brightened up, finally giving his visitor his full attention.

Brock smiled. “Then I’m glad I arrived when I did. Wouldn’t have wanted to miss out on having such a cute nurse.” Steve flushed red, much to Rumlow’s amusement.

Steve bit the inside of his cheek. Okay. That was definitely a come-on. And definitely not the kind he appreciated. It was another thing he chalked down to his size and body type. That somehow his physical build meant him subservient to these alpha male types. Probably something to do with small dick syndrome.

Rumlow realised Steve’s flush was based on anger rather than embarrassment. He made a show of looking sorry. “Ah, shit. Man, I’m sorry. I just…Fuck! Me and Jack spend so long out doing long range recon that I really don’t get a lot of opportunities to practice not sounding like an asshole.” Rumlow was back on track when he saw Steve stifle a small laugh.

“Don’t worry about it, and apology accepted.” Steve looked quickly away, debating whether or not he wanted to say what was on his mind. There was no doubt that Brock was a very attractive man, and he’d been so easy to talk to yesterday. Fuck it, he thought. “And I don’t get a lot of opportunities to practice my reaction to bad pick-up lines.” He finished with a shy smile.

Brock looked hopeful. “So…I haven’t screwed over my chances of taking you out for a drink tonight?”

Steve’s smile faltered and his stomach lurched. He had no idea if it was due to the exhilarating nervousness of a really hot guy being interested in him, or due to feeling physically sick at the idea of somehow betraying his feelings for the Soldier. He rebelled against the second thought. There had been no relationship to betray. Steve was even angry at himself for feeling guilty at all. He was a fucking adult, not a teenager with his first crush. Everyone had to get over a broken heart at some point. With determination and a set jaw he looked Brock in the eye.

“You know what? Yeah. You can take me out.”

Brock let out the breath he’d been holding and gave Steve a genuine smile. “Meet you at The Institute at 7?”

“Yeah, I know that bar. See you there.” Brock had turned to leave before Steve added, “Looking forward to it.”

Brock replied with a flirty wink as he walked backwards. The fact he almost walked into a door only endeared him more to Steve.

As soon as Hank arrived to cover the evening shift Steve took off back to his room, a thrill of excitement running through him in anticipation for his date.

* * *

 

Rollins was waiting outside. Brock motioned his partner to follow him out of sight of passer bys. Brock dropped his voice low.

“It’s him. Sure of it. I’ll handle the kid, you get the truck prepped. Spin something with S.H.I.E.L.D. about going out tonight to follow a lead. Keep them off the scent. Meet me at the extraction point at the West gate. I’ll be there at 9.”

Rollins nodded affirmative and stalked off. Rumlow watched him go, smoothing a hand over his hair: he had a date to get ready for.

* * *

 

Oh no! Steve!

The song in the Soldier's memory that Bucky's mother is singing is _Romeo and Juliet_ by  _Dire Straits._ It's a killer song that always reminds me of Stucky, so give it a listen if you fancy! 


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That was easier than I thought it was going to be.” Her voice was slightly gravelled, like she had spent weeks on the road without a reason to use it. The two watched the Soldier stop to trade at a stall offering canned food and smoked meat up ahead.
> 
> The blond man let out a long breath. “Fuck, that was both equally hot and terrifying. Don’t know whether I was supposed to piss myself or cum in my pants. And I’m not even into guys!”
> 
> His companion tutted and gave him an affectionate kick in the ribs. “You disgust me.”

Hi readers! I’ll start with an apology: I did not intend to go for so long without an update, but when real life kicks my arse, my writing is the first victim.

But on a promising note now that my life is getting back on track I am making way for some ‘me time’ (e.g. fanfic time!)

I don’t want to promise I can update every week, but I will try as often as I can. This fic will be finished – it is planned out to the bitter end – I just need to write it.

Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy the newest chapter!

 

* * *

It didn’t take Steve long to start regretting his agreement to the date once the initial thrill had worn off. By the time he made it back to the barracks he was considering standing Brock up and just hiding under the covers of his bed. But Brock seemed like a nice guy, and he probably spent a lot of time out on recon on the road where it was dirty, dangerous, and lonely. Maybe, Steve thought, he could be a friend for the night and nothing more. Just spend a few hours having a drink and some conversation with an attractive guy who’d appreciate the company. Mind made up, Steve washed and put at least a little effort into choosing his outfit (there were only so many combinations of vest, hoody, and combat trousers) and styling his hair with a bit of the fruit sugar and water concoction Shadowcat and Bobby used for the purpose. Shadowcat herself had come in half-way through the process and had taken over without explicitly mocking his attempt.

“So, one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. guys from yesterday, huh?” She had instantly demanded to know what the Hell Steve was doing when she had walked in on him with her hair spritz sticking his fingers together.

“Yeah. Came close to bailing out, but…might be fun.” Steve shrugged and offered a small smile that did not meet his eyes.

She looked thoroughly unconvinced, “Uh huh.”

Steve flushed, “He’s attractive, and I was real excited to be asked out, you know? It’s not something that ever happened too often.”

Shadowcat gave him a flat look, “Gee, I wonder why that was.” She finished styling his hair, achieving a look ten times better than Steve had ever managed.

Steve took a deep breath. Shadowcat had, in the short time he’d known her, become a really good friend to him. “I just…I’m still so angry with him! And – it doesn’t even make sense, I know – I thought it would piss him off if he knew. He was always so Goddamn protective and I hated it! I fucking pined after him for years when I knew he wasn’t interested in me like that but fuck! Talk about not letting me get over him easily…” Steve finished with his head in his hands, hiding his face from Shadowcat in case those damn tears made a reappearance, “I fucking love him and he’s gone. Made it pretty clear he isn’t coming back for me…”

“Steve?” Shadowcat took his hands in hers, forcing him to look up. “You probably don’t want my opinion, and really I don’t know if I should even give it, but you showed me the note he left.” She squeezed his hands, “I saw the way he looked at you – as if you were the only good thing in this world. He loves you. Even if he was too scared to say it out loud.” Steve had known what was coming, but Shadowcat’s words when said aloud did not have the effect he was expecting. Instead of a painful jolt to his heart, a sickness in his stomach, he just felt hollow. It was liberating. He looked at his friend,

“Well it’s too fucking late now.”

 

* * *

The bar was popular with Steve’s fellow recruits, and he got a few friendly waves as he made his way to the table Brock was sitting at. His date pushed delicious-looking orange long drink across the table.

“It’s new to the menu thanks to a tomato glut, apparently,” Brock explained, nodding at the drink. Steve took a long drink, mainly to just get some alcohol inside inside. Calm his nerves. And God it was good!

Fortified, Steve set his drink down and took in his date. Brock it seemed had made an effort too, and he certainly scrubbed-up well.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I… Actually, it doesn’t matter why, not important. I’m just sorry I’m late.”

Brock smiled, “Well if it makes you feel any better I got here ridiculously early. Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself? All I know is that you’re a really cute nurse with an accent not from round these parts.” He sat back with his drink to allow Steve to talk.

Steve shrugged, honestly not used to talking about himself. He and the Soldier had lived very much in the present and had rarely spent any time reminiscing about their pasts. That was, well, the past. “Not much to tell. I’m from New York. Place called Brooklyn. It was still kinda operational when I was a kid, one of the last areas on the East Coast to have electricity until a whole Reiver army torched the power plant. After that the last traders moved out and headed West into the Desert. So did some of the urban tribes. Streets became a major base for S.H.I.E.L.D., and I helped them out with some scavenging sometimes. Stayed Unaffiliated though, even after my mom died. That’s pretty much it, I guess. Not very exciting!”

“You’re Unaffiliated? Wow, you guys are usually homebirds, or travelling in groups. How’d you make it all the way out here alone?” It was a story Steve definitely did not want to get into, but Brock struck him as genuinely interested.

“Always wanted to see more of the world, and the opportunity to leave presented itself. I took it. Never regretted it. And I’m not Unaffiliated anymore, I’m an X-Man now.” There must’ve been something in his tone that clued Brock in to what he _really_ thought of that development.

“You don’t seem too pleased about that.”

Steve looked down at the table and ran his index finger through slow, random patterns against the grain of the wood. “It wasn’t my choice. I was happy. Here…” Steve shrugged again, “Well, it’s not home.”

Brock leant forward and rested his chin in his hand. “And where is home?”

Steve looked up and smiled. “The road. The back of a motorcycle. Anywhere I’m with…” he trailed off. “Let’s talk about something else.”

 

* * *

 

Steve and Brock had talked for hours over several drinks, and it was dark by the time they stepped out into the deserted street. Steve had enjoyed himself, but the date had reinforced that he did not want even a tentative relationship with the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.  

“Look, Brock I had a good time tonight, thank you. But it made me realise that I’m really not looking to date anytime soon. I know you said that you’d like to take me on another date, but I’d like to remain just friends. Maybe go out for a friendly drink next time you’re passing this way?” Steve was surprised to see Brock looked more than a little disappointed. The older man moved to place one hand on Steve’s neck, an invasion of space that had Steve tensing up.

“I get it, Steve, and I had a really great night with you. But I have the feeling that you’re holding out for someone else.” He stepped closed, Steve stepped back, “I really want to end the night on a positive.”

“Wha-” Steve started as Brock crowded him against the wall. Before Steve could process what the Hell was happening he was being kissed. Luckily, Steve wasn’t into Brock’s advance and his wide eyes caught the glint of a syringe in his date’s hand. Steve lashed out, stamping on Brock’s foot as hard as he could. Angry, Brock swung for Steve’s head forgetting the syringe in his fist. Steve ducked fast, his reaction to an attacker he couldn’t hope to best physically honed by years of training with the Soldier. Brock’s fist connected with the concrete wall hard enough to smash the drug-filled syringe. Steve made to dart aside and run but Brock seemed to hardly be phased by the punch that left a crumbling, fist-shaped indentation in the wall.

“No you don’t, you little fucker!” He spat, going for Steve’s throat way faster than the blond had anticipated his “date” could move.

Steve’s surprised gasp was cut off when fingers tightened around his neck. He could only claw ineffectually at Rumlow’s hand as his attacker squeezed and his brain screamed BREATH! Black spots danced across his vision until, with a final tightening of his grip, Rumlow smashed the back of Steve’s head off the concrete wall. The impact stunned Steve severely and he would have collapse to the floor if not for Rumlow’s iron hold. He was aware - in an abstract sort of way - of a warm, thick wetness running down the back of his neck. Brain too muggy to process anything other than OXYGEN, Steve slumped forward against his attacker’s chest.

Rumlow moved quickly, slinging Steve over his shoulder where the blond hung limply. The HYDRA agent moved quickly through the rubble-filled streets of the still-abandoned areas of the city, those deemed too structurally unsound to clear out and repopulate. Rumlow used these dark deserted streets to skirt the bustling city, heading towards the West Gate. Rollins was waiting with their vehicle where the streets had been cleared. Steve was bundled onto the back seats, unaware as one pair of handcuffs linked his wrists together while another secured him to the inside of one of the rear doors. With their silent cargo and correct S.H.I.E.L.D. identification it was easy for the two HYDRA members to pass the West Gate with a “safe travels” from the attendant guards. Within minutes they were heading out West on the highway.

 

* * *

By the time the Soldier snapped the last HYDRA goon’s neck the normal sounds of the gears in his arm recalibrating had become a very annoying grating noise. The Soldier scowled at the offending limb as the flex of smooth metal pseudo muscles and tendons produced a stuttering, jarring motion. Some bastard in the rafters of the base had managed to get a lucky shot in with a Goddamn armour piercing round. Sure, the mechanics of his arm were advanced enough that the round itself had barely made a dent overall, but unluckily for the Soldier had impacted right on the join between two already damaged plates at his elbow.

Base now cleared the Soldier could spare a few minutes berating himself over his stupid mistake. It _was_ an easy raid: A HYDRA relay station used as a permanent base for a small group of operatives and as a resting point for motorcycle messengers. He had known that there would be little or no useful information held there, but it had been on the way to his next big score. Seemed pretty stupid at the time to pass up the opportunity. He would only have had to go back and clear this base at a later date anyway if he was going to be serious in wiping HYDRA of the face of the Earth. His mistake was disregarding the “sniper” as a minimal threat. Which he would have been except for his dumb luck. Didn’t save him from a knife between the eyes from 60 yards away though.

Back out in sunlight the Soldier was able to make a maintenance assessment. He knew enough about the arm to fix the basics, keep the thing running. Plus, Steve’s artists fingers were perfect for getting right down into the workings. He remembered the first time he’d asked Steve to help by replacing a very small and very fiddly length of wiring. Steve had blanched at the idea, sure he would mess up and make the problem worse until the Soldier had reminded him that there were far fewer potential fuckups compared to the time when Steve had been fingers-deep in his abdomen.

Steve was a painful subject, and with no one to talk to the Soldier had been increasingly retreating into his own head. He hadn’t spoken a word out loud in almost a week, and the dreams were getting worse: A disorientating combination of Steve, HYDRA, and what were possibly echoes of James Barnes’ memories. When awake he couldn’t distract himself from near constant thoughts of Steve, a fact which was evidently starting to affect his performance in the field. Was he okay? Was he still drawing? Had Storm set him up right in X City? Hell, was he even still _in_ X City? Did he have friends? Had he met someone? Could he spend the rest of his life with them? He had drawn up endless scenarios in his imagination, and in every one of them Steve was happy and settled without the Soldier in his life. X City was providing him with the life and opportunities he deserved. In every one of them he was a thousand times better off without the Soldier in his life. He had imagined returning to Steve once all of this was over, the two of them picking up where they left off, heading back out into the Desert. Steve giving up _everything_ he had built of his new life in the City only to grow to eventually hate the Soldier once he realised the price. It sure helped the Soldier make up his mind. He would never see Steve again.

The Soldier cleaned and holstered his weapons before giving the arm a final inspection. He gave a heavy sigh as the arm stuttered through his attempt to pick up his water canteen. Yep, it was fucked.

 

* * *

 

The scavenger camp set up either side of what was left of Route 20 must be relatively new. It certainly hadn’t been around last time the Soldier (and Steve) had travelled this way. He would need to stop here for both supplies and information before pushing straight West. There were only two men he knew of that could fix his arm, and one of them, Forge, was in X City. Iron Man was all the way over on the West Coast, and the Soldier had a rather antagonistic relationship with him _at best,_ but the whole point of leaving X City was to keep HYDRA away from Steve.

Plus, the redhead that had been tailing him since he’d passed through the ruins of Dallas would turn up by nightfall, and they needed to have a _discussion._

First there was shopping to be done. Iron Man didn’t sell his services cheap. The merchants set up in the camp’s marketplace were trading mostly in junk, but one was displaying a promising array of electrical components.

“Howdy, traveller. What you after? Got the best selection of un-fried datawear this side of… well, this side, I guess.” The blond stallholder looked like he’d lost a fight with the side of a Goddamn building: Two black eyes, a stitched gash along his forehead, and a nose that was definitely broken. The Soldier assessed the man – well-built, could probably handle himself in a fight, but ultimately not a threat – but didn’t reply as he continued to rifle through the piles of circuit boards and wires. The man, unfortunately, wasn’t put off.

“Not a talker, huh? I get that, you got the whole mysterious, lone wolf look going on.” Before the man could continue with the unwanted and one-sided conversation the Soldier held up two large, almost pristine circuit boards packed with capacitors, transistors, resistors and each fitted with sizeable copper heatsinks and what he assumed were processor chips. “How much?”

The blond behind the stall whistled at his choice of wares. “Expensive stuff, friend. You sure you can trade for it? Kinda look like you’d put a knife in me rather than conduct an honest transaction.”

The Soldier huffed and slammed a box of ammunition down in front of the trader.

The blond blinked a couple of times before snatching up the valuable commodity. “That’ll about do it.”

The Soldier stuffed the electronics in his pack. “Tell your friend to meet me at that shithole bar in the tent at the edge of camp.” The blond looked up from inspecting the ammunition surprised. The Soldier grabbed the front of the man’s beat-up purple leather jacket and practically hauled him over the stall. Getting right up in the man’s startled face he snarled, “And you try and fuck me over I will tear both of you apart. Understand?” The Soldier didn’t wait for confirmation before pushing the blond back off the stall and stalking off. A figure stepped out gracefully from behind the stall’s tent. They unwrapped the scarf covering its face and head to reveal a shock of wavy red hair. The woman moved to stand beside the blond still in a heap in the sand, hands resting on the ammunition belt at her hips.

“That was easier than I thought it was going to be.” Her voice was slightly gravelled, like she had spent weeks on the road without a reason to use it. The two watched the Soldier stop to trade at a stall offering canned food and smoked meat up ahead.

The blond man let out a long breath. “Fuck, that was both equally hot and terrifying. Don’t know whether I was supposed to piss myself or cum in my pants. And I’m not even into guys!”

His companion tutted and gave him an affectionate kick in the ribs. “You disgust me.”

 

* * *

If the redhead was trying to surprise him by slipping silently into the adjacent seat she would have to be disappointed. She motioned to the bartender: Two glasses and a bottle of ‘shine in exchange for a pouch of gambling chips valid at the Hellfire Club. The Soldier finished the drink he had been nursing before he turned to look at her.

“Tell your friend he can join us. Less conspicuous than him lurking in the shadows.”

The woman shrugged. “He’s good enough for the usual typeswe get around here. But this isn’t really his thing. You should see him with a bow and arrow. It’s the reason I keep him around.” She beckoned the man over anyway and asked for a third glass. She poured three generous shots of liquor. The blond man from the market slumped down into the seat next to her.

“This is Hawkeye, I’m Black Widow. We know who you are.” She took a drink. “And now the introductions are out of the way I need to ask you some questions.”

The Soldier downed a shot and refilled their glasses. “Normally I ask the questions, but you’ve already told me what I need to know.” Black Widow seemed nonplussed by his reply, while Hawkeye managed a “Huh?”

“You’re here because I’m either stepping on someone’s toes, or because you – or your employers – need my help.” He turned in his seat to face them both. “It’s not the former, because I’d bet you didn’t know even half of the bases I’ve hit existed. And if whoever you work for had them under surveillance I would have known. So that leaves the latter. Now you answer my question: What do you want?”

Hawkeye tapped Widow on the shoulder and whispered loudly into her ear, “He’s _really_ good.”

She smirked. “We’re on the same page, I see. I’m _very_ good at my job, so out of professional curiosity, how did you know this loser was my associate?” She nodded at the blond who let out an indignant “Hey!”

The Soldier sat back and folded his arms. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but you’ve been on my tail a while. You knew about the original damage to my arm, and you knew I would need to visit Iron Man at some point. The fact that some idiot got a lucky shot in this morning was an unexpected bonus for you, but you knew I would need something to take to bargain with. Electronics this fancy are hard to come by out here, so I reckon they’re provided by S.H.I.E.L.D. Probably from a computer safely locked in a lead-lined room when the EMPs hit.” The Soldier leaned forward resting on his metal arm in a clear threat. “Now I’ll ask you again one last time before I either get up and walk out of here or put a bullet in both of your brains: What do you want?”

The Widow raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but nevertheless tensed for a fight. “Well reports that you have mellowed out have been greatly exaggerated. What happened to the stabilising force in your life? Actually, don’t answer that. _Everyone_ knows what happened, we live in a world where gossip is a Goddamn commodity. If you wanted to keep him off of Hydra’s shit list you could’ve handled it a bit better I reckon.”

“Yeah man, that must’ve been rough. Very public breakup and all that.” Hawkeye looked genuinely apologetic which annoyed the Soldier even more. He narrowed his eyes at the beat-up blond man,

“It wasn’t a breakup.” He turned his attention back to the Widow, “You going to make me ask again?”

“Shield wants you to stop blowing up Hydra bases.”

“Fuck off,” the Soldier spat. He made to rise until the Black Widow grabbed his wrist.

“You want Steve to live in a safe world don’t you? You want Steve to be safe?” The amount of people in this damn hellhole of a world who knew about his weakness seemed to be increasing exponentially. He sat back down willing to hear her out at least. “You’re right, we didn’t have a clue about the bases you’ve hit so far and we don’t like being clueless. We want you to continue clearing the bases out, then map them and secure them. Pass the info on their location to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

The Soldier’s expression darkened. “Why?” He asked though he was pretty sure of the reason.

The Widow gave him a calculating look before continuing, as if she knew already what his opinion on the matter would be. “They’re in locations that would be strategically important to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“So S.H.I.E.L.D. moves in and takes over? Cut off one head, two more shall take its place?” The Soldier did stand this time and the Widow made no move to stop him. “S.H.I.E.L.D. or HYDRA, you all want the same damn thing.”

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “And what do you think that is?”

He looked right at her. “Order. You want something that you can control.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Most would say order would be an improvement on what we have right now.”

“Maybe, but that is not a decision S.H.I.E.L.D. can make on behalf of everyone else. There are people out there doing great things. Good people, and they are thriving. Let them decide how to build their new societies, without S.H.I.E.L.D.’s interference.”

The Widow smiled like a true predator. “And there are some terrible people out there too. Are you going to leave the good to suffer at the hands of the evil in this brave new world?”

He laughed at that. “That’s why your employers and HYDRA are the same: You have no faith in the good in this world. You don’t believe that the majority will do the right thing. Yes, innocent people will die. Settlements will burn. Most will make it, some will not. But they will come together, and when they do, it will be their decision. Not some faceless relic of the Old World.” He leant forward, hands resting on the table, “Don’t let S.H.I.E.L.D. repeat the mistakes of the past.” The Soldier turned to leave and was almost out of the tent when the Widow called after him,

“And you believe in good triumphing over evil? It’s a fairy story!”

The Soldier left and didn’t look back.

 

* * *

Steve came to – groggy and confused – handcuffed awkwardly in the back seat of a truck. He moved as slowly as he could, trying to avoid aggravating his throbbing head. It felt like he’d been run over by the damn truck before being bundled into it. His vision had blurred. He would need his eye drops of he planned on escaping as soon as the opportunity presented itself. It was still dark out – his failing eyesight could recognise that much – and there were two others in the front of the truck. He assumed one of them was Brock.

Brock _fucking_ Rumlow. What an asshole.

Steve had to mentally restrain himself from lashing out at the back of the man’s seat. Getting knocked out again wouldn’t help the situation, but keeping quiet and trying to learn as much about his current situation as he could undoubtedly would.

_Okay, Rogers. What do you know?_

The ride was smooth. A highway, or maybe one of the few freeways still passable.

He was no longer in X City. If they _were_ on a highway it would probably be Routes 70 or 55, with 44 practically a warzone as the Judges battled the Rough Riders over control of that portion of the Desert. Heading West or South then. Not North. North would send them directly into Asgardian lands, and Odin’s warhosts did not take kindly to strangers crossing their borders. And East would send them back into Horde territory, a dangerous route at the best of times.

West or South. Steve could work with that.

West – Unfamiliar, but more populated. He could hide out in the city if he managed to make it to KC.

South – Familiar territory if he managed to bear South East.

Steve had never been so thankful that the Soldier had made him memorise that damn map.

And God, did that thought _hurt._ But now is not the time to feel sorry for yourself, Steve. The thought of his mother’s voice was grounding.

None of that changed the fact that he was currently trapped. He’d have to wait until they stopped and let him out of the truck before he could try to escape. Hopefully their destination was still a ways away and they would need a couple of piss breaks to break up the journey.

Taking further stock of the situation Steve was thankful to find himself still fully clothed with his combat boots tightly laced. Sure, he wasn’t prepared for a night out in the bitter cold of the desert but he had on a pair of sturdy boots and a warm hoody. If he did manage to make a break from Rumlow he’d need to run anyway. That would keep him warm. Probably. The fact that his boots were still laced was a good sign. Steve couldn’t imagine that if Rumlow had taken his boots off to search him for weapons he would have bothered lacing them back up. With any luck he’d still have his small knife hidden down the inside of his left ankle. Without the use of his hands there was little else he could do to try and inventory his possessions, being unable to check his pockets. Instead he turned his attention to his captors.

Steve was confident that he would survive the journey to wherever their destination was. They obviously needed him for something or Rumlow could’ve left him dead in an alley back in X City. And as far as Steve was concerned there was only one reason a man like Brock Rumlow would need him alive: The Soldier.

“Hey!” Steve called out. When there was no acknowledgement he kicked the back of the passenger’s seat, “HEY!”

A pissed off Rumlow turned to glare at him. “Shut the fuck up!”

Steve glared right back. “How long we gonna be in this hunk o’ junk? I need to piss.”

“Hold it in or piss yourself then.”

Rollins spoke up then, “We’ve got a 10 hour drive on a good day and that aint including a stop at the Refinery. I’m not sitting in a truck stinking of piss. What’s he gonna manage to do, anyway? Take us both out?”

Sounding annoyed, Rumlow relented, “Fine. We stop every two hours.” He switched on a short-wave receiver so that they could hear the Counting House broadcast.

Rollins huffed, “Fuck that. We’ll stop every hour so we can switch. Can’t see a bastard thing out here…” Rumlow didn’t seem happy but he didn’t say no. Steve was happy: Now he had a schedule he could work with. He wasn’t one for making plans usually, preferring to pretty much wing it as he went. The Soldier had been the analytical one. But Steve realised that if he was going to make a run for it he would only get one chance. He had to absolutely pick the right moment…

They were four hours into the journey according to the Counting House, and Steve had learnt the following:

  *          The next stop they would make would be at a refinery. One he was sure wasn’t marked on his map;
  *          They were – apparently – behind schedule as the road had been slow going in places;
  *          They were travelling South along Route 55;
  *          They were expecting Reiver trouble further down the road;
  *          When they stopped Rumlow and Rollins would take turns to un-cuff him from the door and take him to piss. Then he would be re-secured in the back seats.



All of this knowledge had helped Steve formulate his plan. Listening to his captors talk he knew that he wouldn’t be able to run when they reached the refinery: It was a Sand Pirate outpost operating in the region under what Steve could only guess was HYDRA protection. There would be far too many armed guards. He wouldn’t run at the next stop, either. There was too much of a risk that Rumlow would still be in short wave contact with the refinery. The Sand Pirates were equipped with dune buggies much more suited to chasing a man on foot down across the sands. So he had made his decision: Run after the seventh hour.

The night would just be easing into morning then too, with the sun beginning to peak over the horizon. It wouldn’t be ideal, Steve would have preferred to make his escape in full cover of darkness, but he had also heard Rumlow and Rollins discussing the possibility of a Reiver attack at a pass “about three hours out of Delta”. With the slow progress they had made pushing their way through abandoned barricades Steve hoped they would hit the pass around the time he was planning to move. If he could do so while Rumlow and Rollins were preoccupied with not becoming a tasty meal the more the better.

Both of his captors too seemed very familiar with transporting prisoners and shared a routine when un-cuffing and re-cuffing Steve. It was the re-cuffing that Steve was most interested in. There were three steps:

  1.        Place Steve into position on the back seat (lying on his left side, arms above his head, knees bent;
  2.        Check the cuffs securing his wrists together, place his hands on the interior door handle;
  3.        Snap the cuff attached to the door around his left wrist.



That was it. Three simple steps one of his captors would complete while the other started the vehicle. Steve knew it was at this point he would have to put his plan into motion. He had originally planned to run when he was outside of the vehicle, but either Rumlow or Rollins would keep hold of the chain linking his wrists. They expected that if he was going to run he would do it while they had stopped.

 

* * *

 

They left the refinery with a full tank of gas and some extra supplies. Steve’s heart began to speed up with anticipation. They made the stop at the sixth hour. His mouth felt dry and his head was almost spinning. They made a stop at the seventh hour.

Steve behaved as normal while they let him piss. His captors talked about him, making jokes, implying reasons why the Soldier would have kept him around. He almost lost it when Rollins joked the Soldier wouldn’t know what to do with his dick even if some poor fucker showed him. It was all variations on a theme, the kind of stuff Steve had heard before, only nastier. By now Steve would have snapped back at Rollins – he had at previous stops – and Rumlow would’ve gone off it at both of them, telling them to either shut up or fuck if Rollins was so damn concerned about the state of Steve’s sex life. That would put an end to it and Steve would be put back in the vehicle.

This time, Steve didn’t say anything. Rollins seemed emboldened, as if he had managed to wear Steve down. He kept up his taunts even as he put Steve back in position (step 1) and checked his wrist restraints (step 2).

“Say we don’t kill you straight away, once he gives himself up for you.” So that was their play. Steve had had his suspicions. “Say we _don’t_ kill you…” He ran his hand up Steve’s thigh, “Say we make him _watch_ instead…” He had almost reached Steve’s groin when the blond spat in his face. Rollins’ expression turned murderous as he backslapped Steve hard enough across the face to bust his lip (step 3).

“Rollins get back in the Goddamn truck!” Rumlow shouted from the driver’s seat. With a final look at Steve that promised a world of hurt in the near future Rollins stalked off to the passenger side without a single glance at the cuff hanging unused from the door handle.

Steve couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face. _Fucking idiots._

 

* * *

 

Steve had kept a running count in his head since the seventh hour broadcast, intending to make his move no later than half an hour after. The Reivers hadn’t shown up so far, and Steve was unwilling to wait any longer. He was on his own. Both Rumlow and Rollins had their full attention on the road and the surrounding area: Rumlow slowing down to avoid a number of obstacles in the road laid out by the Reivers for that very purpose, and Rollins with a handgun in his grip and eyes scanning the landscape. The rear mirror was angled perfectly to show a wide view of the road, leaving Steve completely unseen unless Rumlow or Rollins were to turn around to look at him.

Steve moved slowly and silently, heart beating almost in his mouth. He felt like he’d have a heart attack if he waited any longer! He moved onto his stomach and placed his feet down. He kept low on the seat as he released the internal lock on the door that was now within his reach thanks the Rollins’ hot temper. He lay waiting until Brock slowed down slightly, Rollins drawing his attention to something kicking up a dust cloud off to the right of the highway.

Steve took his chance. Before his captors could even react to the sound of the rear door suddenly opening Steve was rolling quickly and painfully along the surface of the road. Scrambling to his feet he didn’t allow himself the luxury of looking back. Instead he ran, crouched and zigzagging, ducking behind outcrops and brush, climbing in and out of dried ditches. A few shots he presumed were from Rollins’ gun landed near him. He could hear Rumlow shouting an order to give chase which was quickly cut off as a band of Reivers camouflaged in the dusty landscape descended on the two HYDRA agents. Steve took a quick look over his shoulder to confirm his good luck before disappearing into the early morning Desert.

 

 


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come with me?” The Soldier pleaded. It looked for a second like she would say yes. Instead she shook her head.
> 
> “I’m not giving up my home to them without a fight. They won’t suspect what I know yet, I’m sure of it. The assassination must’ve been scheduled. She wouldn’t have known you were a threat, wouldn’t have known to postpone the job. I was lucky.” The Soldier suddenly pressed his hand over the bullet wound in his side. Her eyes widened. “You not so much. Sit.”
> 
> “There isn’t time,” he grit out, “I need to move. Don’t worry about me, the round’s sitting shallow. I can deal with it later. Do you have anywhere to go after you torch the place?”
> 
> She gave him a murderous smile. “Right into the belly of the beast. I’ll head to the Club. I hear anything important I’ll try to get a message to Iron Man. You’ll need to tell him everything you know, they’ll be out to get him too.” The Soldier started to back towards the door.
> 
> “Stay safe, until I come back. I will come back.”
> 
> “Soon, right?”
> 
> “Yeah, soon.”

Another chapter! I had a lot of fun writing this one, and may have inadvertently created my new crack brotp... 

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

Steve doesn’t stop until he runs across a long burnt-out trailer about five miles from Route 55. There’s no sign of a pursuit. He can only guess Rumlow and Rollins are tied up with the Reiver band. Literally, hopefully. There was little of use inside the trailer save for a light flower print blanket Steve could use to shield himself from the sun as he travelled. Steve was grateful just to have a sheltered place to hide out and rest a while, check his supplies, and treat his skinned elbows and knees.

He was right that Rumlow hadn’t bothered to search him. The small knife was still concealed in his boot. Steve had never been happier that he needed to wear his utility belt to hold up his trousers. It meant he still had the map, thank God, and the dog tags, plus a few lengths of jerky and a bandana and charcoal pieces should he find water that needed to be filtered before drinking. And thank God he still had his eye drops. Not a lot to work with in all, but enough to survive.

The sun was at its height now making the heat out of the shade almost unbearable. It forced a tough decision: Chance capture resting until the midday heat had passed, or keep moving and risk dehydration and heat stroke. He knew of course that venturing out in daylight without water was just about the stupidest thing he could do, but how did that rank against sitting on his ass and waiting for HYDRA? With nothing else in the immediate landscape to draw attention away from the trailer it was an obvious hiding place. There was nothing for it but to keep moving.

At least Steve had a vague idea of his location : He reckoned on being about a week’s walk from the nearest highway, Route 59, which was well used by scavenger bands making runs down to the old coastal cities of the South. There would be gangs he’d have to avoid of course – the Judged for example  ̶  but thankfully a few others he and the Soldier had done business with before. Hopefully there would be someone in their raiding parties that would recognise him. Route 59 and the relative safety of certain gangs was still a long way off, and he would in no way make it alive if he didn’t find some water before nightfall. His best move, though he was loath to admit it, was to find other people. It would be dangerous as Hell as he didn’t have the luxury of bypassing Slavers or even Reivers (God forbid). But he also knew from experience that they would be unlikely to kill him. Even Reivers took slaves – either to use themselves or to barter with for necessities like gas. Steve was under no illusion now after so long in the Desert that he was _exactly_ the type of young man that would fetch a high price at a Slaver market. They would give him food and water, an (uncomfortable and probably cold) place to sleep, but Steve had no doubt that he would be able to escape before they came to the nearest Slaver camp. Of course he would rather run into a band of Settlers, a compound if Unaffiliated, maybe, or even a load of Goddamn Galactus-worshipping crazies.

That was settled then. He applied the last of his eye drops (he hoped to God they would last until he could make it to Route 59), retied his boots, and wrapped the thin blanket around his upper body, head, and face. He squinted his eyes for a final look back West, scanning for any signs of movement in his direction, before setting off into the shimmering Desert heat.

* * *

Pleasure Town was a sprawling mass of tents and hodge-podged buildings that had grown in the shadow of the ruins of Phoenix from a single brothel and casino into  _the_ entertainment destination this side of the Sands. It would be the Soldier’s last stop before heading straight to Iron Man’s West Coast stronghold. An ‘ask no questions’ kind of town, it was the sort of place people like the Soldier could feel relatively comfortable. He left his bike at Cable’s Place. The guy owed him a favour so the job – and the two cans of gas the Soldier ordered – would be gratis. Cable could be trusted not to screw him over either and sell his gear. The guy may be an asshole and guaranteed to fuck-over an honest customer, but he took his debts seriously.

The town was busy as ever with bars, gambling joints, strip clubs and brothels lit up with garish neon lights. It was a major hub for travellers moving North, South, East or West, and a general hangout for road gangs, Pirates, and many unsavoury individuals. It was the kind of place you could purchase almost anything for the right price, or where a man or woman with a past could disappear. Pleasure Town had a strict no snitches policy, the evidence of that left skinned and hanging by their ankles at the town gates. The place was chaotic, sure, but far from lawless. Its ruler saw to that.

A squad of young Skrull Raiders unmistakable in their purple warpaint were blocking the street, drunk and loud and hassling a small group of Settlers as they tried to pass by. The Soldier didn’t slow and pushed his way through the squad, pushing the mohawked leader aside none too gently with his metal hand. Buoyed with alcohol and spoiling for a fight the leader snarled and went to grab the back of the Soldier’s Kevlar jacket. In less than a second he was on the ground, fingers dislocated and nose broken from the headbutt that had laid him out cold. The Soldier stalked up to the wide-eyed SIC . He pointed to the frightened Settlers.

“Let them pass, then pick him up,” he rolled the leader onto his back with his boot, “and fuck off. I see you fucking with anybody again tonight and we have a problem. Understand?” With only his eyes visible thanks to the mask that covered the rest of his face the Soldier looked almost nightmarish in the firelight. The SIC nodded vigorously while two of his squad started to drag their leader away behind the nearest bar.   

The Soldier turned his attention to the six Settlers, four adults huddling to shelter two small children, all dressed in the yellow robes of some religious cult. The Soldier moved slowly towards them.

“Are you–“ he started but abruptly stopped when one of the adults pulled a knife. He placed himself in front of his companions, obviously terrified but refusing to back down.

“Stay away!”

The Soldier held up both hands in surrender. “Okay…I’m sorry.” The Settlers had started to shepherd the children away, the man with the knife backing up after them.

“Just stay away from us!” With that final warning the group disappeared into the crown that had gathered in the street at the earliest inkling of bloodshed. They soon began to disperse when it became apparent the violence was over. One figure cloaked in black remained. It fell into step beside the Soldier as he began to walk away, gaze directed to the ground.

“Does it sting?” A lilting, soft female voice asked.

“No.”

The figure glanced at him. “Don’t lie. You may be immune to my other ‘gifts’ but your eyes have always been expressive. Probably because you always wear that mask.”

“Not always.”

“No,” the woman allowed, “I suppose not.”

“I was on my way to see you.”

“Of course you were, otherwise you would have hung around Cable’s until he finished with your bike. Well, I sought you out instead.”

“Why? The Club still sore over my last visit?”

“The Club isn’t safe.” She spoke quietly now. “Like always I have something for you, but we must go somewhere else.”

The Soldier tensed at this change in habit. “It’s your Club. You been ousted?” It wasn’t uncommon in settlements like this. There was always someone willing to stab you in the back and step into your place. But for it to happen to the White Queen…

“Not here. They have ears everywhere. We’ll go to the Palace.”

“No ears there?” He asked.

She gave him a feral grin, “Only my own.”

* * *

In the end Steve came across an old stagnant well in the grounds of what looked like it had once been a livestock ranch before he encountered any other people. The only semi-standing building, little more than a dilapidated shed, provided shelter from the midday sun while Steve drank filtered water from an improvised bottle and chewed on half of one of the jerky strips. He reckoned he’d crossed maybe 10 miles, making pretty good time, before hitting the ranch. Still no sign of being tailed, either.

He could see a road in the distance (not marked on the map – the scale of the print allowed for only main highways and freeways to be included) maybe another 5 or 6 miles hike. Easier now that he had a little water he could carry with him. He would have to cross it anyway if he wanted to head in the direction of Route 59 (still a good 20 miles away), so it would be easy enough to check out, see if there were any signs of _someone_ using it. Steve prayed that there was. The longer he thought about it the more uncomfortable he felt about how slowly he was moving, how long it would take him to get to one of their contacts. HYDRA obviously hadn’t captured the Soldier if they were banking on using Steve as bait to lure him out, but surely it was only a matter of time. If he could get to a contact he could hopefully – somehow – send a long range message to their other contacts across country. Iron Man would be the obvious choice.

It occurred to Steve how stupid they had been not having a plan in place to message each other if they were separated long-distance. Then again they hadn’t been apart for more than a few hours at a time, while the Soldier disappeared off into the night, in the last three years. The note too had made it pretty clear the Soldier didn’t want Steve trying to track him down. Maybe the Soldier had always intended to just up and leave him one night. It was a sobering thought, and one that convinced Steve that he had been the only one emotionally invested in their partnership. That was obviously the difference between them: To the Soldier their agreement had always been temporary, while Steve couldn’t imagine living the rest of his life with anybody else. But there was no time – and he didn’t have the energy – to waste being angry right now. The Soldier was in danger from HYDRA, and Steve would do everything in his power to save him.

* * *

The Palace was White Queen’s private residence at the opposite end of the Diamond Strip to the Hellfire Club, the main reason Pleasure Town existed. White Queen had built it up from nothing: From a six room brothel that offered a safe place for men and women to ply their trade to the Desert’s premier entertainment venue. It had taken ten years to build the Club – and Pleasure Town – up to a place that offered a blind eye to most things and harsh justice to others. Most importantly, it promised a good time. White Queen had been just 18 years old when she started the Club, and she had ruled Pleasure Town ever since.

The Palace sat in the centre of a walled compound that was guarded like a fortress. It was the Soldier’s first time seeing it up close despite the number of times he had been to the town. All his previous business with the Queen had been carried out at the Hellfire Club. And with good reason, too. It was true that Pleasure Town had little respect for snitches, but the business of information was, as they say, ‘big business’. The central rule of Pleasure Town was this: Information good be bought and sold like any other valuable commodity, but transactions must take place within the walls of the Hellfire Club, and they must be mediated by the Queen herself or one of her Council. With this simple rule the Queen had established herself as top dog in this corner of the Desert. It was also the reason that Pleasure Town was not considered fair game among the various factions that roamed the highways.

The structure was built from shipping containers and an old cylindrical grain silo. It was gaudy as Hell, lit up in neon like a Damn Christmas tree, and surrounded by a moat of fresh water. The sheer waste of precious resources spoke more about White Queen’s power than any number of skinned corpses strung up on the gates ever could. The black leather-clad guards raised their weapons – spiked maces – in salute when passed. Their faces were masked in leather cut and shaped to look like Rottweiler heads, ears included. Thick, spiked dog collars completed the look. The two posted at the entrance to the building spared the Soldier only cursory glances as the Queen waved him through. Once inside they were alone.

“My most loyal. Two months ago I had a hundred guards posted here all hours of the day and night. I don’t have that luxury anymore.” She led him down the main candle-lit corridor to a spiral staircase fashioned from weird and wonderful pieces of metalwork. It led to her private room located at the top of the silo, the door again guarded by two of her ‘dogs’. Inside the Queen unfastened her cloak and let the heavy velvet fabric fall to the floor revealing her famously risqué attire of supple white leather. She turned her back to the Soldier and lifted her blonde hair, exposing her back.

“Do you mind?” She asked looking over her shoulder. As always, it was two questions in one. The Soldier didn’t bother replying and instead gently unlaced her tight corset. Once free she took in three gulps of air, wobbling on her heels a little at the sudden influx of oxygen. She steadied herself using the bed post while she unzipped and removed her thigh high boots, leaving herself clad in nothing but a pair of white panties. It was a routine they had fallen into whenever the Soldier arrived to conduct a transaction with the Queen after that first time not long after he had woken up de-iced. She was incredibly proud of the kingdom she had built with nothing but the skills that had been forced upon her by survival and the sweat off her own back. Her clothing was a reminder to all that while she and her men and women would allow others to use their bodies for pleasure in exchange for payment, they could just as easily crush their customers for any infringement of Pleasure Town’s laws. At least that was the explanation she had given the Soldier once.

The White Queen was a predator in the truest sense of the word, but the Soldier could do nothing except admire her. She used seduction as sure as he used his strength. She would get close, hypnotise men and women alike, and take what she wanted from them. The first time they had met she had slipped almost naked into his lap and whispered sweet platitudes while she had worked her hands down the front of his pants, only to sit back looking very confused when there was no reaction. The Soldier had just shrugged, looking very amused with the whole situation. She had offered to get a man for him to which he shook his head, then she had threatened to cut off his dick and make him eat it if what he was after was a child. The Soldier simply explained he wasn’t interested. After that she had climbed off him and rather sheepishly admitted that her Council had advised her to slit the throat of the “dangerous stranger” once she had him in the throes of ecstasy. Since that first meeting they would describe themselves as almost-friends. It was the reason she always asked “Do you mind?” while asking for his help in undressing. It was her way of acknowledging that there was nothing sexual in their exchange, that she was meeting him in a different arena than the others she did business with.

She even admitted once, laughing, that he was the only man who could make an honest woman of her. The Soldier had just rolled his eyes.

The room itself was opulent to say the least with walls covered in art liberated from museums looted the best part of a century ago, a mahogany bed that looked big enough for 12 and was draped rich tapestries and furs, and a deep copper slipper  bath. There was no roof; instead the room was open to the stars allowing the smoke from the fire burning in the grate in the centre of the room to rise into the night. She led the Soldier to a low Japanese tea table fashioned from cherry wood and gestured to an unbelievably soft looking pile of cushions and wolf furs on the floor. They had yet to get down to business when a girl entered carrying a try of food and drink. She set the tray on the table and knelt to serve until the Queen waved her away.

“Thank you, Ella, that will be all. I’ll call you if we require anything else.” The girl looked puzzled but nodded, bending into a shallow bow before leaving the room. The Soldier watched the Queen pour them both a cup of hot mint tea. They raised their cups in salute to each other before taking a sip as was custom in the Hellfire Club before beginning a transaction. It was a gesture of trust to drink at the same time without testing for poison. Anyone who came to enter a transaction and refused the custom was escorted to the gates. They would not be welcome in Pleasure Town again.

The Soldier set down his cup and unzipped his Kevlar jacket. The room was far too hot and the White Queen was one of the only people apart from Steve that he (partially) relaxed in the presence of. It wasn’t trust as such, more a powerful mutual respect. Free of the jacket he was able to roll his metal shoulder and flex the arm. It had been getting increasingly stiff the longer his journey took.

“Well that confirms the rumour you’re heading out to see Iron Man.”

“Let me guess; you heard that from a source who heard that from a couple of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents?”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Have you not been playing nice with S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“I turned down their offer. Figured they would try and make the rest of my trip hazardous to my health. Let guys with a grudge know where I’m heading. The woman at least isn’t stupid enough to think any of them would be able to kill me, but she’ll know it would slow me down. Piss me off. She’ll want me to know S.H.I.E.L.D. has the resources to make my life…difficult. As if I didn’t already know that…”

“Their friend thought I would sell on the information for a good price.”

“Oh yeah? What did you give them?”

“Sixty lashes,” she shrugged. “Needless to say, I didn’t tell anyone about where you were going. First any of your enemies knew you were coming this way was when you rocked up at the gates.”

“Of course you didn’t, you like our quality time too much.”

“I can drop the act around you and not fear a knife in my back or a bullet in my head.”

“Same.” They each took another drink and helped themselves to food.

“That was depressing. How’s Steve?”

He answered truthfully, “I don’t know”.

She gave him a sympathetic look, “Yeah I heard. He’s in X City, right?” She wasn’t offended when he didn’t confirm or deny. He’d trust her with a lot, but not with Steve’s safety. They all had things they needed to protect.

“Even people I’ve never met before fucking know. It’s a Goddamn small world out there. You’d think people would have better things to do than fucking gossip.”

The White Queen snorted a laugh, “Darling, this town is built on firm, willing bodies and scandalous gossip. I am disappointed I never got to meet him though, the way you used to talk about him.”

Talking about Steve aloud, with another person, was painful. More so than curling up alone with nothing but his memories, a thin blanket, and stinging eyes. The tenuous grip he’d managed to get over himself over the last few days was already starting to slip again. The Queen had obviously noticed the effect Steve’s absence was having.

“Maybe you can bring him to meet me, soon. I’ll look forward to it.” She sat back and poured them both some more tea. “If I’m still here, that is.”

The Soldier looked at her sharply. “Is your life in danger?”

“Always, but not from anyone I fear. They would keep me alive, a princess locked in the tower. A puppet ruler. How long do you think Pleasure Town would survive without me? No, I’m too valuable to kill.”

“HYDRA.”

“Crawling out of the woodwork. You’ve set them back, taking out their secret hideouts. But it is far more serious than that. There is not a city, settlement, or camp in this Desert that they do not have some foothold in. They’ve grown in the shadows, infiltrated my Council.” She pulled a writing slate from under the table. The Soldier took it, studying the image of HYDRA’s sigil and the seemingly random numbers underneath. “They’re communicating like this. Like they’re getting ready to make a move. Can you imagine?” He could hear the barely perceptible tremble in her voice. She was scared. “Do you recognise the code? I’ve tried interrogating the HYDRA agents I’ve found but none of them have allowed themselves to survive the process. Poison capsules, I believe.”

Truthfully the Soldier could not translate the message. “My memory isn’t what it is. I’ve hit the locations I could remember – places I’ve operated out of – but I can’t remember anything as detailed as a code.” He stared off into the fire for a few moments. “I don’t remember writing messages…I remember I think…they were passed by radio. Short wave. Sequences of numbers read out. I know I received them but I can’t remember how I decoded them. I’m sorry.”

The White Queen nodded, only slightly disappointed and well aware the Soldier would have told her more if he’d known anything. She was about to speak when the door opened and the girl from earlier entered. The Queen frowned. “Ella? I didn’t call for you-“ She couldn’t finish as the Soldier had already pushed her to the floor, shielding her body with his own. The first round ricocheted off his arm, being on a direct trajectory for the Queen’s chest. The second hit him just below his ribs. On the third the gun jammed. In an instant the girl was on her back, the Soldier pinning her, metal hand squeezing her throat as best it could. He thrust two flesh fingers into her mouth but wasn’t quick enough. She had already bit into the poison capsule hidden in a false molar. Her death – violent convulsions, foaming – took minutes. Once over the Soldier stood and wiped the pink foam covering his hand onto his pants. The Queen had redressed in her cloak and boots and had thrown open the door to confront her most trusted guards. She found them lying in a pool of blood. “Fuck!”

“Not so much the princess in the tower anymore,” the Soldier commented. “She had a room here? We need to rip it apart. We won’t have long until they realise she failed in her assassination attempt.”

The White Queen took a final look at her fallen men. She took a deep breath, steeled herself. “This way.”

The girl’s room was on the lower level, a modest space containing a single bed, a dresser, a trunk of clothes. The Soldier started to pull it apart.

“What are we looking for?”

“That code you showed me. It’s been seen around Pleasure Town, right?” She nodded. “Then there must be a way for agents to decode the messages. A book would be the easiest way. Something all of their field agents have a copy of. Something real common.” The Queen joined the search, rifling through the drawers of the dresser. “She looked young. How long has she been here?”

“Two years maybe. Ran from a Slaver camp. Her story checked out.”

“Then she’s been recruited here. It really isn’t safe in Pleasure Town, not if HYDRA are confident enough to run a fucking training school here.”

“Got it!” The Queen held up a red and yellow book. Old, of course, and protected by a yellowing plastic dust jacket. The words “Farenheit 451” once printed in black now only just discernable. She passed it over without argument and followed the Soldier back up to her room.

“I’ll take this, start trying to decode the messages.” He slipped his jacket back on and refitted his mask. “Burn the Palace. They’ll think the fire was the result of a struggle in here. It’ll cover the missing book.” He turned to look the Queen in the eye. “Come with me?” The Soldier pleaded. It looked for a second like she would say yes. Instead she shook her head.

“I’m not giving up my home to them without a fight. They won’t suspect what I know yet, I’m sure of it. The assassination must’ve been scheduled. She wouldn’t have known you were a threat, wouldn’t have known to postpone the job. I was lucky.” The Soldier suddenly pressed his hand over the bullet wound in his side. Her eyes widened. “You not so much. Sit.”

“There isn’t time,” he grit out, “I need to move. Don’t worry about me, the round’s sitting shallow. I can deal with it later. Do you have anywhere to go after you torch the place?”

She gave him a murderous smile. “Right into the belly of the beast. I’ll head to the Club. I hear anything important I’ll try to get a message to Iron Man. You’ll need to tell him everything you know, they’ll be out to get him too.” The Soldier started to back towards the door.

“Stay safe, until I come back. I _will_ come back.”

“Soon, right?”

“Yeah, soon.” He was about to leave when she called out and ran over. She placed her hands either side of his face, closed her eyes, and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss over his masked mouth.

“I’ve always been a little jealous of a blond kid I’ve never met.”

She could tell he was smiling when he replied, “I know.”

* * *

The road was in regular use, that much Steve could tell, by both light vehicles (mostly motorcycles) and the occasional truck, maybe an escorted gas tanker once in a while. He couldn’t tell much more – which direction most of the traffic was heading, how often, when the last vehicles had passed – without the Soldier’s expertise on hand, but it did seem a better bet survival-wise to take his chance following the road than it did to head back out into the sands and towards Route 59. The primary decision now was whether to follow the road North or South. Steve pulled out the map and sat down on the cracked asphalt. He worked out his location as best he could. South would take him towards New Orleans where they had a few contacts who could probably help Steve out. It would mean moving even further in the opposite direction from X City, the one place the Soldier may feel it was safe enough to try to send a message. But New Orleans and the surrounding area was much more familiar to Steve. There would be  _help_ there. It was closer, too. More of a chance to actually make it there alive. North would send him in the general direction of X City, but first he would have to pass through Jackson, a notorious centre of Reiver and Ganger activity thanks to its location between two major Unaffiliated settlements at Dallas and Atlanta. Jackson had been one of the first cities hit by those new econukes during the war, thankfully after the city had been evacuated. It had been an early warning shot, really. A demonstration that new nuclear weapons existed that could be centred on a much smaller fallout radius, and the radiation dispersed into the atmosphere above, both sides were much more likely to use them. Jackson had remained a pile of uninhabited pile of rubble until the Reiver “religion” caught on and various cults moved in. Now it was a no-go area. That made him think, too. If this road led to Jackson it could be one of the main Gang roads Reivers kept clear of travellers and used to hit settlements hard and fast. It was a tactic they picked up from HYDRA (they’d called it the “New Era of Blitzkreig”. Assholes).

South it was then. He’d move near the road and follow its direction. Wait out for someone – _anyone –_ moving in the same direction. He would still take his chance with the Reivers if it meant getting closer to New Orleans faster.

Steve stashed the map and took a gulp of water. He pulled the blanket back around his head and shoulder and headed off, moving South. In the far distance, behind Steve and coming from the North, a cloud of dust kicked up by a group of vehicles appeared.

* * *

The Soldier had made it about a mile from Pleasure Town when a fireball erupted from the Palace compound illuminating the Desert sky for miles around. Whatever the White Queen had found to use as an accelerate had been effective. The book stored safely in his pack was already praying on his mind and he itched to get to work studying it. The code would have to wait though. The bike was running on optimal and he had a full tank and two jerry cans of gas, and six hours of good road between him and Iron Man.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my post-Apocalypse AU Stucky fic! I absolutely adore late-70s and 80s Apocalypse movies like The New Barbarians and The Road Warrior, and I thought they would be great worlds to benefit from a little bit of Steve/Bucky love.
> 
> I'm not using archive warnings, but I will give a heads up if there is going to be something particularly brutal coming up. There will be many more Marvel characters showing up later, along with some surprise guests from some choice 80s fandoms (points if you spot them!)
> 
> This is the first fanfic I've written in many, many years, so comments and reviews are very much appreciated!


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